That the Moon Elbowed the Stars
by nicalyse
Summary: And maybe it's an awful thing to think, but he wonders what's worse for her: losing New York or losing her dad.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I generally don't post things before they're complete, but I'm feeling impatient today, and it seems like I've been working on this forever. It's fourteen chapters now, and I expect to write two or three more. I'd love to hear what you think!

* * *

><p>He isn't exactly surprised when she shows up at his door one night, though he doesn't really know what to make of the sort of shell-shocked look on her face.<p>

"Can I come in?"

See, she and Finn broke up like, a month ago, between prom and graduation, and the chick always ends up in his truck or his house or with her tongue in his mouth when she and Finn break up. And it's always a shit storm. He thought maybe it wasn't gonna go down that way this time because the breakup was mutual and she and Finn are still friends and whatever, but he doesn't mind being wrong.

He ignores the hell out of the looks his mom is shooting the two of them from the living room and follows Rachel up the stairs. She's wearing these little denim shorts that look pretty good, but he's far enough behind her that he'd be able to see her panties if she was in a skirt, which would definitely be better.

"What's up, baby?" he asks, pushing his door shut once they're in his room.

She turns around to look at him, and now that she's in his room instead of just under the porch light, he can really see how weird she looks. Her eyes are wider than usual, her lips parted, her chest moving up and down a little more than it should be as she breathes. He takes a step towards her. "Rachel."

"My daddy is sick," she blurts, inhaling sharply after the words are out of her mouth. She can't believe she just said it like that, without warning him first. She isn't really thinking clearly right now though.

He doesn't know what he expected to come out of her mouth, but that definitely wasn't it.

He has no idea what to say, but he's not sure that she needs him to say anything. She's sort of looking through him when she says, "It's cancer." She already hates this word.

"Fuck."

She sits heavily on the edge of his bed, and it's fucking stupid that he's glad that he made it when he got up this morning. It's a stupid time to think it, when she just told him that her dad has cancer. "What kind?" he asks quietly.

"Pancreatic," she whispers.

He sits down beside her. He doesn't know a lot about cancer, but he knows that's bad. Like, cancer is never good, but he knows that's one of the worst, remembers his mom talking about it when Swayze died. He thinks she's sort of sitting here telling him that her dad's going to die.

"I can't go to New York," she says after a long time, her voice just louder than a whisper. She's been thinking it since her fathers told her what they sat her down in the kitchen to tell her, but this is the first time she's said it aloud. This makes it real. "Not right now."

_Fuck_.

"I'm going to make the calls tomorrow," she goes on, looking down at her lap. She's toying with her car keys. "Register with OSU. Defer NYU."

God. New York and NYU and Broadway are all this girl's talked about for the last year, seriously. And that doesn't count the like, two years before that when she brought it up every half hour instead of every five minutes. And maybe it's an awful thing to think, but he wonders what's worse for her: losing New York or losing her dad.

Yeah, it's awful, and he feels like a bastard for thinking it.

He should say something, he knows, but he doesn't know what. '_I'm sorry_' is basically the most worthless thing in the world for something like this, and the only other thing he can think is how much this really, really sucks. He knows her dads from temple and through glee club stuff, and he hates the idea of her black dad being sick. (Maybe it's wrong, but that's how he thinks of them, as the big black dad and the little Jewish dad.)

"I don't even know why I'm here," she says, standing abruptly. "I have to go."

He realizes that she's in shock, and even though she had to have driven here, he's not letting her drive now. "No, you don't," he says gently, wrapping his fingers around her forearm and pulling her down to sit on the edge of the bed again.

"Yes, I do," she insists, clutching her keys when he tries to take them from her. He wins, but she isn't really fighting that hard, which sort of freaks him out. Rachel doesn't just give up.

"Rachel."

She lets out a little breath and looks over at him. She doesn't _feel_ anything. "Noah. My daddy is going to die."

Her eyes are huge and as sad as he's ever seen them, but they're still dry. With the exception of his sister, he doesn't think he's ever known someone who cries as much as Rachel, so it kind of freaks him out that she's not. He doesn't know what to say to her, still, so he just wraps his arms around her, pulling her until she's sitting across his lap and is wrapping her arms around his torso.

"You can't think like that," he murmurs against her hair. "You need to be positive and stuff."

She doesn't say anything, even though there are a million things she could say to that, just lays her head on his shoulder and tightens her arms around him. It scares her that she doesn't feel anything, that her heart doesn't hurt over this. It scares her so much that she starts to feel tears prickling at her eyes. It's completely absurd, crying over the fact that she can't feel anything, but once she's started, she can't stop the big, silent tears from slipping down her cheeks.

He doesn't even realize she's crying until her tears soak through his shirt. "Don't," she whispers when he says her name.

"Okay." He shifts his body a little, turning so he can pull his legs up onto the bed and lean back against the headboard. He starts pulling his fingers through her hair gently, listening to the rhythm of her breathing - or lack of rhythm, since it's all messed up with the tears - because it's the only sound in the room right now.

Her grip goes a little slack when she falls asleep. She never actually stopped crying, so she must have just worn herself out.

He really, really needs to figure out what he's supposed to say about this, her dad being sick and her dream being put on hold or whatever. (He can't imagine that her dads asked her to stay, but he can't be sure of what exactly is going on.)

He's kind of dozing off when his phone vibrates on his bedside table. It comes up as an unknown number, which he usually ignores, but he just feels like he should answer it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Noah, this is Andrew Berry." Rachel's daddy, the one who has cancer. "I know it's late, but I was wondering if you've seen Rachel tonight. She ran out earlier, and she isn't answering her phone."

Puck glances at the clock and realizes that, yeah, it is late, and he's been dozing for longer than he realized. "She's here," he answers simply. "She fell asleep."

He hears Andrew let out a sigh of relief. "I was worried that after what we told her..." He trails off, and Puck feels really uncomfortable. "I assume she told you."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Noah. Don't wake her, but will you let her know that I'll expect her home in the morning?" His voice is soft, like he gets that Rachel's freaking out. Well, he is her father, so Puck figures he probably does kind of get it.

"Sure."

"All right, good night."

Puck has never, ever had a girl's dad straight-up give her permission to sleep in his bed, and if he was a complete asshole, he'd think this was a waste. Except this has nothing at all to do with sex and everything to do with the fact that Rachel's completely fucking freaked out right now.

She really did exhaust herself crying, because Puck basically moves her around like a doll for a good five minutes, shifting until they're under the blankets on his bed even though they're both still wearing all of their clothes. She just ends up curling closer to him in her sleep, her breath warm against his chest and one hand fisting in the front of his shirt.

The last thing he's thinking about before she falls asleep is why she came to tell him all of this.

* * *

><p>She remembers exactly where she is when she wakes up. It's a ridiculous time to think it, but she thought that she was supposed to be confused when she woke up in a bed that isn't her own. She's in bed with Noah, though, the blankets pulled up to her chin as she presses her face into the side of his chest. Her throat is dry, and she can feel how swollen her eyes are from crying.<p>

She bolts upright when she realizes that she never told her fathers where she was going and then stayed out all night. She didn't even remember to grab her phone when she ran out of the house.

"S'a'matter?" Noah mumbles, sitting up beside her and catching her upper arm in his hand.

"I have to get home, Noah. My dads-"

"Called last night," he interrupts, blinking at her blearily. "'S'fine, they know where you are."

"They called?" she repeats. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Told me not to." It's so early that the sun is barely peeking through his open curtains, so it's kind of hard to read the expression on her face. "Rachel." Fuck, he feels like he should say something, but he has no idea what to say to her right now, and not just because it's the ass crack of dawn. He just legitimately doesn't know what to say to her.

"They found out before graduation," she says softly. She isn't actually sure why she's telling Noah this, but it feels important. "Daddy said he didn't want to ruin it for me, so they kept it a secret for a week and a half." Noah's just watching her, the windows at his back leaving his face in shadow. "I can't decide if I should be grateful or angry about that."

"You should feel whatever you feel," he says, and he isn't totally sure that he's not talking out of his ass, except that sounds pretty good.

She tilts her head a little and looks at him, watches his eyes as she considers what he said. "I'll try." She means it. There have been times in her life - a lot of them, in fact - when she thought that maybe she felt too much, too strongly. She needs to feel this.

"I should go," she says after a long moment. He nods and watches as she climbs out of bed, tugging at her hopelessly wrinkled shirt before grabbing her keys from where he left them on his bedside table.

"Hey," he says, sitting up and making her stop when she starts toward the door. "Let me know if you need anything," he tells her seriously.

She nods, the corners of her mouth turning up a little. It's almost a smile. "Thank you. For everything."

It doesn't take long to get home from the Puckermans'. It's early, and with school out for the summer, there aren't many people out and about this early. It's a short drive through a residential area, and Rachel makes a point of noticing the peonies blooming in a few of the yards along the way. It just seems important this morning.

She isn't surprised to find her dad standing in the front hallway when she lets herself in the house. He's dressed for work, and his favorite green coffee mug is in his hand. "Hi," she says quietly. She knows that her daddy is upstairs getting ready for the day. She wonders how long he'll keep up the pretense. How long he'll be able to.

"Are you okay?" he asks. She nods even though she's actually pretty sure that she isn't okay. Quite the opposite. "Please don't do that again, Rachel. Run out." He lets out a sigh, looking down at the floor for a moment. "I know you're an adult, and I'm not going to stop you from doing what you want, but don't make me worry."

She feels awful, because she didn't even think about her fathers until she woke up this morning, and even then, she forgot about their worry as soon as Noah mentioned her daddy had called. "I'm sorry," she whispers. She feels so selfish.

"Oh, angelfish." He steps forward and wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tight until she returns the gesture. "I'm not mad. I know it's hard." She squeezes her eyes shut tight as he talks, one hand rubbing up and down her back. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

She shakes her head, pulling out of his grasp. "I'm just going to get some sleep." She didn't say anything to Noah, but she slept restlessly. It was that sleep that you don't wake up from, but isn't restful, the kind you wake up from still tired. She knows that she was dreaming, and even though she doesn't remember any specific details, she remembers feeling lonely.

He nods. "We'll talk tonight, all right?" He kisses her forehead before she turns to go upstairs.

Rachel moves as if on auto-pilot, splashing cold water on her face, brushing her teeth mechanically, and changing into a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top before climbing into bed. The room is too bright, the open shutters on her windows allowing sunlight to stream into the room, but she doesn't bother to close them. She doesn't know that she'll actually be able to sleep. She just isn't ready to talk about any of this yet, because she doesn't know how she feels about it yet.

She knows there are things to do, and she's already making plans. Plans equal control, control she doesn't actually have over the situation. (She'll take the illusion, frankly.) She needs to contact NYU and explain why she's deferring for a year, then contact OSU to assure placement in student housing and an orientation seminar. She knows she can't _not_ go to school - her fathers wouldn't hear of it - but she also knows that she can't be in New York when her daddy is here in Lima going through all of this. Columbus is only two hours away, and most of her credits should transfer when the time comes.

She needs to sit down and do some research on her own. Her fathers gave her some basics last night, but for all of their talk about her being an adult and wanting to treat her like one, she knows that they were holding back, trying to protect her from the bad news. She needs to understand this disease, understand what Daddy's treatments are like, what his prognosis is. She needs to know these things to have some sort of control over the situation even if, rationally, she knows that the cancer has all the control.

Her phone vibrates on her bedside table, where she left it last night before her fathers called her down to the kitchen, and it occurs to her that they probably tried other friends before they called Noah. Kurt and Mercedes, certainly, and probably Finn. Instead of answering or checking her messages, she just turns the phone off and tugs the comforter up over her head.

She still feels numb. She's going to blame it on the lack of sleep, but she knows she's making excuses. It frightens her, that she doesn't feel anything, just like it scared her last night. But then, maybe she doesn't feel anything because she just isn't ready to. Maybe her mind is protecting her heart.

* * *

><p>"Rachel spent the night."<p>

Puck just lets out a sigh when he walks into the kitchen and his mother states the obvious. He knew he was going to have some form of this conversation the second he let Rachel in the house last night; this morning, after Rachel left and he heard his mom moving around downstairs, he knew the conversation was going to suck more.

"Yeah," he says simply, going straight to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. He doesn't drink the stuff habitually, but it's just that kind of morning.

"Noah, if you're dating Rachel..." his mom says, trailing off with some unspoken threat as she stacks the plates she's rinsing in the drainer. He doesn't even know what she's getting at; his mom thinks Rachel's pretty cool. A little intense, she says, and too optimistic for her own good, but she likes her, and she's sort of crazy over the fact that Rachel bakes, randomly.

"We aren't dating." He scoops sugar into his coffee directly from the canister on the counter next to the flour. As far as he's concerned, coffee should be dark and sweet. "She got some crazy news last night, and I think she just needed to get out of her house."

Marlene dries her hands on a dish towel. "Didn't she and Finn already break up?"

He barks out a laugh, because even though nothing about this situation is funny, that shit is hilarious. Fucking small town gossip. The Finn and Rachel breakup was _news_. If it wasn't annoying, he'd probably think it was funny that she knows that Rachel always comes to him when she and Finn get into it or whatever.

"Not about Finn, Ma." He leans against the counter and slurps his coffee, letting out a sigh when she turns to look at him expectantly, hands on her hips. "Her dad, Andrew, has cancer," he says quietly. "They told her last night."

Watching his mom like, deflate in front of him completely sucks. "Oh, Noah. That's terrible."

He just nods, then turns around to go back upstairs before she starts asking questions that he can't answer. Like why Rachel came to him when she found out that her father was dying.

* * *

><p>The first thing Rachel does when she wakes up is turn on her phone. She can delay actually sharing the news of her father's illness, but she knows that her friends will be worried. She can at least reassure them that she's alive and well and there's no need to worry.<p>

Thirty-seven text messages, thirteen missed calls, seven voice mails.

Good lord.

She doesn't bother reading any of the texts before she empties her inbox. The voice mails are from her fathers, Finn, Mercedes, and Kurt, which is exactly what she expected. She is surprised when the last message is from Santana, full of snark about making people worry about her. She finds it strangely endearing.

She sends the same text message to the four of them, a quick lie about a dead battery and overprotective parents that she's completely aware probably doesn't make sense. (She adds a quick _I'll explain later_ to avoid further questions.) She doesn't know what her fathers said to her friends exactly, but she assumes that they mentioned that she'd run out of the house. She knows it's only a matter of time before they all start questioning her, but she just isn't ready to talk about it.

She needs to get things together first, including her own head, and she's glad that her fathers are at work so she can get started.

She doesn't bother to shower, just gets dressed, pulls her hair into a ponytail, and starts making phone calls.

* * *

><p>"You did <em>what<em>?"

Rachel takes a slow bite of brown rice, chewing carefully before swallowing. "I deferred my acceptance to NYU and registered at OSU."

Andrew Berry gapes at his daughter across the kitchen table.

"Why would you do something like that? And without discussing it with us?" David asks, clearly cutting off his partner before he can say whatever he's thinking.

Rachel shrugs, faking nonchalance. She hates this conversation. "I'm an adult, and it's my decision."

"Why didn't you say anything?" David looks at his daughter like he already knows the answer, but still has to ask.

"I knew you would try to stop me," she answers honestly. "Now it's done."

"Rachel," Andrew says sharply, making her flinch. "Explain yourself right now."

She drops her fork with a clatter, glaring across the table at her daddy. "I'm not moving to New York while you're sick!" she shouts. The startled look on his face isn't nearly as satisfying as it should be. "I'm not leaving Ohio until you're better."

None of them says what they're all thinking: _Or until you're gone._

"You didn't have to do that," David says softly, diffusing the tension in the room. Their family has always been like this, Rachel and Daddy at one another, Dad doing his best to keep either of them from going too far. It's impossible to imagine that dynamic changing.

"I know."

She doesn't elaborate. She doesn't think that she has to. If something happens with her daddy's health, Columbus is just a two hour drive, while getting a flight from the city and then driving back to Lima could take an entire day. She would never forgive herself if something terrible happened and she couldn't get back in time, and she's just not going to put herself through that.

No one says anything else for the rest of the meal. It's not quite right to call it a meal either, since all three of them are just pushing food around their plates.

* * *

><p>"Dude, have you seen Rachel this week?"<p>

Puck just shrugs at Finn's question, even though the answer is yes. He kind of wants to know where the question is leading before he says anything about Rachel spending the night in his bed four days ago. He's still waiting a little bit for the other shoe to drop with the whole Finn and Rachel thing because that's how that shit always goes, and her in Puck's bed will piss Finn off. Besides, that was sort of a strange situation, so it probably (definitely) doesn't count, and he hasn't seen or heard from her at all this week.

"Her dad called me at like, 12:30 on Monday night because they didn't know where she was, but I haven't heard anything from her since then," Finn says, his eyes trained on the TV as he blows some video dude's head off.

"You didn't find out if they found her?"

"She texted me Tuesday morning, so she's not dead or whatever, but still."

The word makes Puck sort of sick. "Nah, dude, I haven't seen her."

Really, he just thinks it's weird that Rachel hasn't told Finn what's going on. Sure, they broke up, but it was on good terms or whatever, and Puck knows they're still friends. Rachel had them on a fucking ridiculous practice schedule for the duet they did for Nationals, which was after their breakup, and they obviously made it out of that alive. Plus, Finn gets along with her dads and stuff. It's just...weird.

He waits until Finn goes home for dinner (seriously) to pick up his phone and call Rachel.

"Is there a reason you're keeping this thing a secret?" he asks when she answers. He doesn't bother with any of the small talk bullshit because it's exactly that. Life is easier when you just get to the point, especially when you're taking to Rachel Berry. (That last bit he's learned from experience.)

"What do you mean?" She sounds tired, but he knows she isn't stupid. It's kind of annoying that she's pretending that she is.

"Finn was over here today and asked if I'd seen you this week because he hasn't heard from you since your dads called him the other night."

Rachel lets out a little sigh and lowers herself to sit on the chair in the corner of her room. She's been basically hiding out in here all week, avoiding her phone and the internet and anything else that might force her to talk to Finn or Kurt or anyone else. "I don't know how to tell people."

"You told me," he says gently. He really doesn't want to be an ass, but he really doesn't get it.

She actually laughs. "I was in shock. I don't think it counts."

She probably has a point, but that doesn't mean she can like, keep this a secret. It's a small town, so people are going to figure shit out. Besides, she's going to have to explain why she's suddenly decided to go to OSU instead of moving to New York and never looking back, and that's going to come up pretty quick. "Finn worries about you."

"Yeah, well. I'm a big girl."

"Rachel."

"No, I know." And she does. She worries too, and that's why she doesn't know how to tell people. For most of them, it's just going to be a sad, 'poor Rachel' sort of situation, but Finn loves her daddy, and she knows it's going to bring things up for Kurt as well, thinking about losing his mom and when he almost lost his dad. "I just don't really want to talk about it, you know?"

"Yeah." He thinks of something and laughs a little. "Just tell Tina and Mercedes. They'll make sure everyone hears. Then you won't have to deal with it."

Rachel has to laugh in spite of herself. It's a terrible idea, but he's absolutely right. As soon as she starts telling people, she's going to have to tell everyone. They're _all_ insatiable gossips, even when the gossip isn't fun. Maybe especially then. "I wish I could."

In the end, she kind of tells everyone at once, and definitely not the way she'd planned.

Brittany has everyone from glee club who just graduated over for a barbecue, which is ironic or something given that she's going to be a fifth-year senior next year. (Even help from Artie and Santana couldn't get her through senior year. Puck's sort of worried about how she's going to do without either of them there to drag her along, but it's not like there's anything he can do about it from Columbus.) They're all sitting around the giant picnic table in the Pierces' back yard, eating food that Puck and Sam cooked, when Finn looks over at Rachel and starts talking with his mouth full. "Where have you been all week?"

"Yeah, you totally bailed on our shopping trip," Kurt says from beside her.

She pokes at the veggie burger on her plate. She wasn't particularly hungry when she sat down; she didn't really want to come to this gathering at all, but she knew she'd get grief from everyone - her fathers included - if she didn't attend. "It's been a rough week," she says after a moment, setting her fork down. She can't bring herself to look at anyone when she says, "I found out that Daddy has cancer."

Considering that she spoke quietly, she doesn't really understand how everyone at the table seems to have heard her. They're completely silent, which never, ever happens, and she'd swear she can feel everyone's eyes on her. "I'm not ready to talk about it," she says quietly. She knows that at least some of her friends will understand the unspoken implication, to please start talking about something, anything else.

Mike Chang is the one who catches up first, and Puck thinks he might love the dude when he starts talking about planning a group camping trip. Rachel is uncomfortable; he can see it written all over her face as she pretends to eat her dinner. It doesn't take long for Kurt and Sam, who she's sitting between, to drag her into a debate about whether camping is awesome or terrible. Sam's falling back on things like sleeping under the stars, while Kurt babbles something about blow dryers Puck already knows is stupid. It works though, a little, because even though it isn't quite getting to her eyes when she smiles, she's at least enough herself to act like she's engaged in the conversation.

* * *

><p>She insists on going along to the next appointment with the oncologist. She's been doing research on her own (terrifying herself, making herself feel sick), but she feels like she needs to hear these things from someone with an M.D. behind his name.<p>

She's also hoping, a little bit, that perhaps the reality of the situation will finally set in, that she'll finally start to process all of this information on an emotional level rather than just an intellectual one. She isn't scared by her lack of emotions any more, but she meant it when she told Noah that she'd try.

She gets more information from Dr. Whitesell about the surgery - procedure - her daddy will have, the potential risks and probable side effects. He'll then undergo chemotherapy, provided he actually recovers from having surgery at all; Rachel knows it's risky and often unsuccessful, but she also knows that the majority of people diagnosed with pancreatic cancer are already too ill for surgery to even be an option, so she's trying to embrace the positivity of her father's situation in that regard.

While she sits in this office holding her daddy's hand and pressing her knees together so tightly that her bones hurt, she tries to remember what Noah told her about being positive. Yes, there is a chance - however slim - that her father will recover from this, that he'll actually be okay. She tends to bounce somewhere between being an optimist and a realist, and it's absurd that right now she's having to force herself to have optimistic thoughts.

The internet is a blessing and a curse for this, frankly, and if she thought she'd be able to stick to it, she'd forbid herself from googling anything related to her father's condition. The temptation, however, is overwhelming, and even just hopping online to check her email and Facebook puts her in this wormhole of information: patients' stories, detailed descriptions of possible symptoms and side effects of treatment, memorials.

Those are the worst.

The three of them go out to dinner at their favorite pizza place, the one that has amazing flatbread for Rachel and the best house-made mozzarella in Ohio (says her dad).

"I only have so many nausea-free meals in the foreseeable future," Daddy says, chewing his first bite.

Rachel fights the urge to glare at him, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, but really? That's the sort of thing he wants to say right now?

"Something wrong, Rachel?" he asks pointedly, looking at her with his eyebrows raised. She notices the way Dad sighs.

"I don't think it's appropriate to joke about that," she tells him honestly.

Daddy nods, wiping his lips with his napkin before laying it back in his lap. "I think I'm the one who's undergoing treatment for a likely terminal cancer, so it's entirely appropriate for me to say whatever I choose."

He might as well have reached across the table and slapped her.

"Andrew," Dad admonishes, looking between his partner and his daughter with wide eyes.

"No, David-"

"It's fine," Rachel interrupts. She hates watching her parents fight, and it's ridiculous for them to argue about this, about her. "You're right. You should say whatever you want." Maybe she's entitled to her own opinion, but her daddy isn't required to listen to her, and he's certainly entitled to handle his feelings about his illness however he wants. "I'm sorry."

He watches her for a moment, appraising. "It's fine," he finally says, looking at her carefully. "Give me a piece of your flatbread, we'll call it even."

And just like that, the tension if diffused and she's laughing. That's how she and her daddy are, always have been, getting at one another and then getting over it without really discussing anything or apologizing.

* * *

><p>He's standing outside temple after services, texting Finn about plans for later while he waits for his mom to finish gossiping with whoever, when Rachel comes up and bumps his hip with hers gently. "Hey."<p>

"I didn't even know you were here," he tells her, sticking his phone in his pocket and looking down at her. She's got a little gold star of David around her neck, resting just beneath the hollow of her throat. He likes it.

"We got here late," she says. They're always late, even though Dad is always trying to rush around and complains, every single time, about sitting at the back of the room just so they don't disrespect the rabbi. "We were sitting in the back."

"You here with your dad?"

"Both of them."

"Really?" Rachel's black dad has only ever come to temple for holidays and special occasions. He remembers asking his mom, when he was about eleven, why he had to come every week if Andrew didn't. He remembers her answer, too: She told him not to be a smart mouth, then explained that Andrew wasn't even Jewish, but still came to temple because it was important to his family, '_and it just breaks my heart to think that you don't take your faith any more seriously than this, Noah_.'

Yeah, epic Jewish mom guilt trip is what that was.

"Rabbi Greenburg called the house to invite Daddy specially when he heard that the surgery was scheduled for Monday," she explains, struggling not to roll her eyes. Rabbi Greenburg has never been openly disapproving of her father, but the man can't completely disguise the fact that he's not necessarily supportive of an 'alternative lifestyle.' It just doesn't feel genuine to her, this sudden concern for her (non-Jewish) Daddy's health. "They're talking with him now."

He grins a little at her obvious contempt for the whole thing. Organized religion looks a little different now than it used to, to both of them, but it makes sense that she's more bothered by all of it than he is, with her dads and Kurt.

"Rachel!"

Abby comes running towards them, throws her arms around Rachel and pulls her into a tight hug. It's actually kind of funny, because even though she's only eleven, Abby's kind of tall for her age, and Rachel's almost a midget, so they're standing basically eye to eye.

"Hi!" Rachel laughs when Abby finally lets go. The girl loves her, just from spending time together at temple and the handful of times Rachel babysat because Puck wasn't able for whatever reason. The feeling is mutual; Abby's a smart, sweet little girl, and it's hard not to love her, even if she does occasionally sound far too much like Noah.

That's the end of the interaction, because Abby runs off with Sarah Johanson.

"Noah, go get her," Marlene says, walking up behind the pair of them. "She'll try to talk forever if I let her."

He walks away with a smirk, muttering something under his breath. (Rachel thinks it's sound suspiciously like, '_you know all about that_,' but she can't be sure.)

"Rachel," Marlene says gently, using a tone she's already learning to hate. "How are you."

"Fine," she answers honestly. She's neither good nor bad, so she's fine.

Marlene nods, a knowing look on her face. "You let me know if there's anything you or your fathers need, you hear me?" Rachel nods, a little amused at the woman's suddenly brusque tone. "And you are always welcome at our house," she adds, a bit softer. "If you just need to get away."

It seems a strange thing to say, but Rachel just nods and thanks the woman before she walks awy. Honestly, as much as she disliked telling everyone about Daddy's illness, she thinks she hates the pitying looks she's getting - especially here at temple - even more. She almost - almost - wants to stomp her foot and shout, '_he's not dead yet!_' at the top of her lungs.

Instead, she just walks to the car, leans against the side of it and exchanges text messages with Blaine while she waits for her fathers to finish their conversation with the rabbi and take her home.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I promise not to begin each chapter with a note, but just one more. First, thank you so much for all the reviews and alerts! Second, my internet connection has been stupidly unreliable lately, hence the delay in updating. I can't promise anything, but I'm hoping to be able to be more consistent with them from now on. Finally, this is now seventeen chapters.

* * *

><p>It turns out that not being registered at OSU until June somehow means that student housing is no longer available, which is annoying, but not the end of the world. OSU is cheaper than being out-of-state at NYU would have been, so it's a fairly simple matter to find a little one-bedroom apartment near campus. Really, it's nice to have a reason to get out of Lima for a day.<p>

There's a little part of her that feels guilty about thinking that, but since his surgery, Rachel's essentially been watching her daddy waste away. They were warned, by doctors and their own research, but watching him shrink, watching him go from her tough, solid daddy and turn into this thin, frail-looking man...god, it twists her stomach into knots. She can't remember the last time she felt normal. (It scares her.) She thinks that maybe being out of town could be the distraction she needs, because just spending time with her friends isn't doing the trick.

There are a whole slew of people from McKinley going to OSU. That's pretty normal, given that it's one of the nearest universities and it's so popular, and one of the reasons that Rachel is even more disappointed by not going to New York with Kurt and, randomly, Mike Chang. Instead, she'll be at OSU with Finn, Santana, Noah, and Sam.

That little list alone makes her alternately relieved and concerned.

She ends up agreeing to go look at places with Noah and Santana, even though they're both going to be in the dorms, because she asks Noah when they're all taking advantage of Santana's pool and the girl invites herself when she overhears. It turns out to be something of a blessing though, because Santana's father is apparently loose with a credit card and doesn't mind booking a hotel room for the three of them for the night. Rachel can't say that the idea of spending two days out of Lima isn't even more appealing than being gone for just one.

If you'd told her even a year ago that she'd be happy about the prospect of spending two days with Santana Lopez - including four hours in a car and potentially sharing a bed - Rachel wouldn't have believed you. But the girl has grown immensely in the last year, exploring her sexuality (she's dated both boys and girls in the last year, so fluid is probably the best way to describe her) and evaluating her relationships with those around her. Somewhere in all that, she stopped directing her ire at Rachel on a regular basis. It's not something either of them have discussed; it just...is. They aren't friends, exactly, but neither is insulting the other (something they've both excelled at over the years) and they've even supported one another a few times in the last year. They've sung together, which is certainly saying something for Rachel; being duet partners always holds some significance.

"This place is perfect for you," Santana announces when they're in the third apartment of the day.

Puck does not care. Not at all. Like, he was sick of this after the first place, when it kind of clicked that Rachel was going to have all of this freedom and space for herself and he was going to be sharing a shoebox with Sam with RAs breathing down his neck. Yeah, he's a little bitter. And also hungry, because they ate before they left Lima, and that was a while ago.

"Why is it perfect?" Rachel asks. She's curious what Santana sees that she doesn't, because this doesn't seem particularly special to her.

"Southern exposure, no tiny oven, two blocks from campus, cute little balcony, huge bath tub," she rattles off, walking into the bedroom closet and not even bothering to look at Rachel.

Well, now that she says that. The first place did have a tiny little apartment stove, and an oven that would never hold a regular-sized cookie sheet. The second place was further from campus and nearly all of the windows faced north, which is admittedly awful.

"There's one more place to look at," she points out.

Santana ignores Noah's groan. "It's a waste of time. We already know you'll have to drive to get to campus from that place, so why even pretend that you're going to live there?"

It's almost annoying that Santana is right, but she is, and while Rachel may be too proud to straight-out admit it, she is willing to forgo seeing the last apartment in favor of signing a lease on this one.

Later (after hours, literally, spent trekking around the city and shopping until the trunk of Rachel's car and the half of the backseat not reserved for a human being were full), they're sitting in their hotel room, talking about possibilities for dinner.

"Wait," Puck says, interrupting the girls' debate over something stupid. "We got you a present, Rach."

She's immediately nervous. She's seen this exact look on both of their faces, usually before something bad happens. In the past, to her, and often involving a frozen beverage or a transgender-related slur.

"Stop with the face," Santana orders, startling her. She starts digging in her purse, giving up after a few moments and upending the thing on the bed, scattering everything from a tin of Altoids to a handful of condoms before her hand closes on the thing she was looking for, a greeting card envelope. "Happy...new apartment," Santana says, dropping the envelope in Rachel's lap and flopping over onto her stomach beside her.

Puck watches her face when she pulls the little card out, sees it go from confusion to outrage in a split second. Awesome.

"What is this?" she demands.

"Fake ID," Puck tells her simply. "And we're gonna test it out tonight."

"I cannot have a fake ID," she insists. For one thing, she doesn't drink enough to warrant such a thing, and for another, the last thing she needs is to get caught using the thing. "I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but-"

"Shut up," Santana interrupts, sounding bored. She tilts her head at Rachel. "At some point, you're going to want to blow off some steam. You'll be able to come out with us instead of drinking alone in your apartment or something really depressing. And at the very least, I'm going to make you come out and be my DD," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

She puts it better than he would have, and Puck can see the wheels turning in Rachel's head. Seriously, logic is the way to go with her, always, because as much as she can twist logic to suit what she wants, she has a hard time fighting against it when someone else does the same thing.

Noah's watching her carefully when she looks up at says, "I suppose you two think we should test this out tonight, don't you?"

Such a good idea.

They end up at this weird little place called Tropics with an enormous list of girly mixed shots and a collection of machines spinning various frozen drinks. There's no bouncer, and the bartenders obviously aren't concerned with serving to minors since they don't bother to check either Puck or Santana's IDs when they order, which kind of makes it awesome, even with all the neon-colored drinks served in styrofoam cups.

Puck gets a beer to make himself feel better about the whole thing.

Rachel's smart enough not to let Santana choose all of her drinks, but she's sipping some frozen cherry something made with vodka and peach schnapps, and Puck brings over a tray with pretty little pink and blue shots (both of which are delicious, for the record). Rachel decides that she doesn't hate the idea of the fake ID any longer less than an hour after they arrive.

It's kind of awesome to see Rachel relax since it hasn't happened in a while. She fakes it when she's with other people, but she's not really fooling anyone. Maybe it's stupid that they let her think that she does, but whatever. If he has to feed her girly, fruity shots to get her to forget about the shit going on at home, so be it.

Santana starts flirting with some guy when she and Rachel are waiting in line to use the restroom, but Noah seems perfectly content to spend his night with her, taking shots and singing along with the jukebox and talking about whatever. It works out, because while she's brave enough to use her gift (and she's well aware that both Noah and Santana consider this a legitimate and valuable gift), she isn't quite ready to spend an evening hitting on strange men in a bar she isn't legally even allowed to sit in.

"You all think I'm going to let you store your liquor in my apartment," she says suddenly, realizing it for the first time. "Noah!"

Puck smirks, because she actually figured that shit out faster than he thought she would. He made that decision about five minutes after he found out that she wouldn't be living on campus like the rest of them. Yeah, he'll still keep stuff in his room - rules are for suckers - but he'll be able to keep a whole stash at her place. "I'll share," he offers, shrugging his shoulder and grinning when she huffs.

"Just for that, I want another round of those pink ones," she tells him, pushing the tray of empty shot glasses at him. He laughs, because she's fucking cute when she's drunk.

He flirts with the chick behind the bar to get his shit comped (and he does) and smacks Santana's ass when he walks by her on the way back to the table just because that's how they roll.

Some dude's sitting in the chair beside Rachel when he gets back, and she looks up at Puck with wide eyes when he sets the tray in front of her. "Noah!" she says, sounding all weird. He doesn't totally know what to make of it, so he just takes his seat and eyes this guy in the fucking purple polo. "This is Spencer."

Santana lowers herself into the fourth chair and stares down Purple Polo. "Is there a reason that you're flirting with my girlfriend?" she asks, snagging Rachel's drink and taking a little sip from the straw.

If it's possible, Rachel's eyes get even bigger. "She told me she had a boyfriend," Purple Polo says smugly, glancing sideways at Rachel.

Noah finally catches on and leans toward Spencer menacingly, his lips curved into a grin. "She does."

Spencer holds up both hands and stands from the table. "You're into freakier shit than me I guess," he says to Rachel, then turns and walks away.

Rachel looks between Noah and Santana, then reaches for one of the glasses on the tray he just brought, knocking back the shot quickly. "I cannot believe you two just did that."

"Whatever," Santana says dismissively. "He was one of those persistent douches, and now he'll leave you alone."

"How do you even know that?" Rachel asks, her eyebrows coming together. Santana just seems to _know_ all of these things, and Rachel finds herself alternately impressed and frustrated by that because she simply doesn't understand.

Santana shrugs, stirring her frozen pink drink with her straw. "Practice. You'll learn." She grins at Rachel. "I'll teach you."

Rachel considers this. She's a little buzzed (drunk), but she thinks this is Santana's way of saying they're going to be friends when they're both at school. Rachel quite likes the way that sounds, the prospect of actually having a girlfriend at college. She never really managed to have one in high school. Instead of saying something though, addressing what is apparently a burgeoning friendship, she just pushes a shot glass toward Santana. "Take your shot."

She's learning.

* * *

><p>"I haven't seen the Berrys at temple in a few weeks."<p>

Puck rolls his eyes, because this is his mom's way of fishing for gossip from him. Okay, maybe she's not just gossiping - she actually really likes the Berrys and is genuinely worried about Andrew's health - but she never just comes out and asks what she wants to know when it's about someone else. She used to broach everything like this, but after Beth, she got a lot more straightforward with both him and Abby. He figures she doesn't want to make the same mistake twice.

He could give her grief, but he's not really in the mood to play this game with her over dinner. "Andrew's chemo is on Friday mornings, and it makes him feel like shit the first couple of days."

She shoots him a little look for his language, glancing pointedly at his sister like Abby's never heard both of them swear. "How's Rachel handling all this?"

He narrows his eyes at her a little, because she sometimes goes through these 'you should marry Rachel Berry' phases (since they were both about twelve and she realized that Rachel was the only girl his age at temple), and he really doesn't want to hear it now. Eventually he just shrugs, because it doesn't matter either way, and he doesn't know how, exactly, Rachel's handling all of it. Not well. "I mean...it's her dad," he says when she doesn't seem satisfied with his shrug.

She watches him thoughtfully for a moment. "You have her phone number?" She stands up from the table and grabs the notepad off the counter next to the fridge when he nods. "Write it down."

He calls Rachel when his mom's doing the dishes, hoping to head the woman off. "My mom has your phone number," he says when she answers.

"Pardon me?"

He rolls his eyes. "She asked how you were doing and I didn't really have an answer, then she asked for your number, and the woman is impossible to say no to."

"It's fine. Thank you for the warning." She thinks it's funny, the way he talks about his mother sometimes. She knows that he loves his mom, but that sometimes he finds her overbearing (even if he wouldn't use that word himself). For all of his bluster about how Marlene is impossible or crazy or whatever else, he adores the woman.

"She doesn't really know how to mind her own business," Noah says.

"She just worries," Rachel corrects quietly. "I think it's sweet."

"You don't live with her," Noah mutters under his breath.

Rachel bites her lip but doesn't say anything. They're both quiet for a moment, then Noah asks if she's going to be at the party Kurt and Finn are having in a few days, says he'll see her there when she confirms.

Marlene waits two days to call. Rachel's forgotten all about the conversation she had with Noah, but as soon as she sees the unknown number on her screen, she knows who it is.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Marlene asks after making some requisite small talk.

"I'm fine," Rachel answers, speaking sincerely. It's the answer she's been giving everyone. Marlene is the first person to call her on the lie.

"Rachel, you aren't fine," she says gently. "It's hard to watch someone you love be in that much distress." She lets out a little breath when Rachel doesn't say anything. "Did you know that I was a hospice nurse before I started working at the clinic?"

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut tight. "Don't, please. Just...can you please pretend that you believe that I'm fine? Because I don't actually know how I feel about any of it, and if you tell me whatever story about whichever of your patients who died, I'm going to feel guilty for not feeling anything all over again."

She feels like she's talking nonsense, and the fact that Marlene isn't saying anything doesn't make that any better. "All right," the woman says after a long moment. "But promise me that you'll talk to someone if you need help figuring it out, anyone. You have to take care of yourself, Rachel."

"Okay." She whispers it because she can't quite speak around the lump in her throat.

"I'm going to have Noah watching out for you, especially once you two go to school," Marlene says sternly. She means it like a threat, and that's exactly how it sounds. "I'll find out if you aren't taking care of yourself."

Rachel laughs tearfully. "I promise."

* * *

><p>Kurt's moving to New York at the beginning of August, and even though it breaks her heart (because she was supposed to be moving with him), Rachel makes a point of attending the going away party Finn is hosting for his brother. Of course, based on the refreshments and the decorations (and the fact that there are decorations at all), it's obvious that Kurt planned his own party and saying that Finn is the host is just a ruse to make him feel better about the whole thing. He has just a teeny, tiny bit of shame left.<p>

She's chewing on a slice of apple from the sangria she's drinking when Finn comes to sit beside her on the couch. "Lovely beverages, host," she teases, gesturing to him with the clear plastic glass she's drinking from. Honestly, he and Kurt aren't fooling anyone.

"Yeah, I know," he says, rolling his eyes before taking a pointed drink from the bottle of Corona in his hand. "How's your daddy doing?"

"Better, actually. I mean, not right now, since he had chemo this morning and that makes him miserable, but his last round is next week and all of the tests have come back negative," she answers. She doesn't tell Finn, because it doesn't really matter to him, but Daddy has also stopped dropping weight and feels stronger, generally, than he did a month ago.

"Negative is good, right?" She nods. "That's awesome."

She loves him a little for still caring.

A part of her will always love Finn, even though she knows now that they aren't meant to be together. Their relationship was always so complicated, so mixed up with everyone and everything else, that she's entertained the highly dramatic idea that maybe they were doomed from the start. (It's not surprising, especially given how long she believed that they were meant to be.) They were together for nearly a year this time around, until the reality of the fact that Finn was staying in Ohio while Rachel was going to New York really started to sink in. She ignored it though, studiously, focusing instead on glee club and making the most of her senior year of high school, and she could tell Finn was doing the same.

Prom was perfect. She wore a deep purple dress, and Finn looked exceptionally handsome in his tuxedo, and neither of them was at all involved in the Quinn versus Santana prom queen dramatics. No, they just had fun with their friends and with each other, and the night ended with a perfect dance to a perfect song.

And that night, when she was standing in her bathroom, tugging pins from her hair, she realized that they would never have a moment more perfect than that one. She knew, somehow, that everything about them being together would be downhill from there, disappointing and difficult and, ultimately, not worth the heartache.

She was the one who ended things, though they told all of their friends it was a mutual decision. And it felt like one, after she explained her reasoning and Finn revealed that he'd had similar thoughts. They both knew that no matter how much they loved one another, this relationship wasn't meant to follow them after high school, and they both made peace with it.

Sometimes, she has moments when she wonders if she did the right thing. In a lot of ways, she didn't just lose her boyfriend, but her best friend. There isn't anyone she just talks to as much as she talked to Finn, even if she does have true friends in Kurt and Mercedes. Finn was always the one person who really had time for her, who could put aside his own concerns to be there for her, and yes, there's a part of her that misses that.

She drinks her sangria while they chat, eating the bits of fruit that taste suspiciously like they were soaked in some other liquor before they were added to the wine. She feels herself getting more and more drunk as she talks about the cat her fathers have decided to adopt (it was a suggestion they found on some website that they've taken to heart) and suggesting that they have a get-together at her apartment in Columbus once school begins.

Puck watches her talk to Finn from across the room, and he really, really hopes that she isn't going to get wrapped up in all that again. They've been keeping it pretty quiet, but he knows that Finn and Santana have had something going on (he's pretty sure it's just sex, given Santana's involvement, but still), and he's not totally sure that Rachel will be able to deal with rejection right now.

He's kind of keeping an eye on her because his mom is on his ass about it, and, yeah, because he does care. They're friends, and there's something about the look on her face when she gets upset that just goes all through him. It's stupid, but it kind of reminds him of Abby, so it's kind of like he thinks about her like a sister.

Except Rachel's really hot and he'd totally tap that under the right circumstances.

Still.

He waits until she goes in the kitchen, follows her and reaches into her glass for a cherry once she's poured. "Hey!"

He winks at her as he chews. "So, you and Finn gonna give it another go?" he asks, cutting straight to the point. "Be college sweethearts, turn your apartment in Columbus into a little love nest?" He's had a few, so his filter is almost fucked.

"What? No," she answers, looking up at him like he's stupid. She can't imagine where he'd get such an idea, and such an elaborate one at that. "You mean because we were just talking?" She huffs out a breath, because honestly. "I can't even talk to someone without wanting to be involved with them romantically?"

He holds up his hands. "Fine. Forget I asked."

"We were just talking about my dad," she explains, her voice quiet. Her eyes are on her drink when he looks down at her, her wrist moving just slightly to swirl the contents of the glass.

"How is your dad?"

She blinks up at him, then smiles slowly. "Better. They're getting a cat."

She laughs when his eyebrows come together. "A cat?"

She tells him all about it, and the entire time, she's trying to figure out why it even matters to him what she and Finn are or aren't doing.

* * *

><p>Her fathers do, in fact, get a cat, barely more than a kitten, really. She refuses to go to the shelter with them simply because she knows it'll upset her not to be able to take home all of the animals there, though she insists that they support a local no-kill shelter, and they come home after a few hours with an adorable little ball of fluff. He's white and orange with bright green eyes, and there's a tiny freckle of a spot of orange to the left of his nose that Rachel immediately falls in love with.<p>

She thinks her fathers' sudden urge to get a pet - a pet she's been begging for for years, mind you - is a combination of the research they've read on the therapeutic benefits of living with animals for cancer patients and the fact that their only child is moving away. She's pointed out the latter and been dismissed, but the way Daddy grinned lets her know that she isn't too far off base.

"He needs a name," Daddy announces. They're sitting in the living room together, her fathers on the couch while she sits on the floor, trailing a ribbon toy for the kitten to chase. "We can't keep calling him kitten."

"You can't just give a cat a name," Rachel protests, looking up at them. "Don't you think an animal deserves to earn his name?"

Daddy just shrugs, smiling when the kitten abandons Rachel's ribbon in favor of pouncing on a catnip mouse. "What do you want to call him?"

The doorbell rings before she can answer, which is just fine since she doesn't have any idea what to name the cat. She volunteers to answer the door, and is surprised to find Noah on the other side.

She's standing in front of him with her hair up in a ponytail, dressed in cotton shorts and a gray McKinley tee shirt Puck can't even believe she owns, and it's kind of weird to see her look so casual. It's not completely weird - he's seen her like this before - but it's such a rarity that he has to look at her for just a second before he opens his mouth. "My mom sent me," he tells her, holding out the dish in his hands. "It's blackberry crisp, which she said is on your daddy's diet as long as he doesn't eat too much of it. And she made it with margarine, so you can eat it, too," he adds quickly.

He's speaking so quickly that he almost sounds nervous, which makes her smile when she steps aside to let him in the house, taking the dish. "My dads are in the living room with the kitten," she tells him. "You should go say hi."

"To the kitten?"

She rolls her eyes and grins, turning her back on him and walking toward the kitchen to put the dessert in the fridge.

It's actually kind of weird to be in Rachel's house when her dads are home; any time he was here after school, they were still at work, and she's had a couple of parties when they were out of town, but that's all.

The first thing Puck notices when he walks into the living room is this cat, lying on his back and scratching the fuck out of some stuffed toy with his back paws. The second thing he notices is how different Andrew looks from the last time Puck saw him, but in a totally good way.

"You look awesome," Puck tells him. He kind of feels stupid as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Andrew just smiles and thanks him, tells him to have a seat.

"What would you name a cat, Noah?" David asks, his eyes on the cat, which is now chasing its tail in circles, the sound of his little claws catching in the carpet audible.

"Uh. I dunno. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," Andrew answers. "He needs a manly name."

Puck's pretty sure there's no such thing as a manly cat (and even if there was, it wouldn't have a chance in this house), but whatever. "I really don't know," he says after a minute. "I'd end up naming it something stupid, like Killer."

Andrew looks at him blandly. "Yeah, that is pretty stupid."

David starts laughing first, and Puck's really just happy to see that Andrew doesn't look gray any more. Puck missed temple last week, and Andrew wasn't there the week before, so it's been a while, and hearing Rachel say that he's doing better isn't the same as actually seeing it. The guy has lost all of his hair, including his eyebrows, and he wasn't exactly pale before (dude's black; come on), but his coloring was weird. He looks pretty normal right now though, even if he is a lot skinnier than he was before.

Noah is telling Daddy about the dessert his mother sent when Rachel comes back into the living room, sitting in the armchair adjacent to the couch and looking strangely comfortable sitting in the living room with her fathers. She finds that she rather likes it, so she retakes her seat on the floor, scratching the kitten behind the ears while the boys talk.

"I still think Cary Grant is a perfectly acceptable name," she offers when the conversation lulls. "He was an exceptional actor."

"That cat does not look like a Cary Grant," Andrew counters. "Too undignified."

Puck just listens while the three of them bicker, tossing around a bunch of names they've obviously already shot down. They're all old (mostly dead) actors and characters from movies he's heard Rachel talk about, and he's totally trying to think of something to contribute to the conversation, but this isn't really his specialty, movie classics and whatever. But then he thinks of the perfect name.

"Rock," Noah offers, speaking abruptly. He's grinning when she looks up at him, the expression he gets when he thinks he's done something particularly clever. It's the same look he had after he sang to Lauren junior year, which leaves her understandably wary of his explanation of his choice. She wants to ask, but she just waits.

"Rock?" David repeats.

"Like Hudson," Puck says, and yeah, it's perfect. "He was into dudes. It's perfect."

"Oh, my god," Rachel murmurs from her place on the floor, looking away when Puck tries to meet her eyes.

Andrew just watches him for a moment, his expression completely unreadable. Puck's starting to worry that he's accidentally pissed the guy off when he cracks up, leaning his head back against the couch while he laughs. Puck still isn't sure the guy isn't pissed, honestly.

"You want me to name my cat after a closeted classic film star," Andrew manages after a minute. "It's perfect."

Rachel gasps. "You cannot be serious."

"Rock it is," Andrew declares, leaning over to scoop the kitten up when he circles near the men's feet. "Your name is Rock Hudson," he croons, holding the kitten up and scratching between his ears.

Rachel shakes her head at Noah, because as much as she can't believe that Daddy named the cat Rock Hudson, she can't believe that Noah even knows who Rock Hudson is.

"I know stuff," he tells her when he sees her looking. The little scowl on her face is kind of cute, and he digs that he was the one to put it there.

She walks him to the door just a little later, following him out and lowering herself to sit on the front steps. He was planning on going, but he figures there's no good reason not to sit with her for a little bit if she's going to be out here anyhow, so he sits beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"He looks totally different than last time I saw him," he tells her. "In a good way."

She nods, smiling over at him. "He's doing much better," she agrees. "It makes leaving for school that much easier."

She can't imagine what it would be like to leave for school knowing that his health was getting worse, but between the surgery and his chemotherapy, he seems to be doing better. She knows there's a chance that they didn't get it all, that the cancer is hiding in his body or whatever terrible thing cancer does, but she's finally found some of that positivity. She really believes that he's going to be okay.

"I can't believe they named him Rock," she says after they've both been quiet for a moment.

He scoffs, bumping her shoulder with his. "You're just jealous that I thought of a better name than you."

She sticks out her tongue, even though she isn't four years old, because he's absolutely right and it annoys her that he knows her so well. Rock is perfect for that kitten; she just wishes she'd thought of it first.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel has a lot of mixed emotions about moving into her apartment in Columbus. That isn't surprising, really, because she's always been a girl who has a lot of feelings about everything. She's a little concerned about not being at home, even though Daddy is doing better, simply because there aren't any guarantees that his health won't take a turn. He got good news when he went in for his last round of tests, but you just can't predict these things. Not to mention the fact that she's eighteen and moving away from home for the first time; it's one of the most significant moments of her life so far. It stands to reason that she'd feel a lot of things about it.

It's a shame that it isn't going the way she'd imagined.

The apartment is lovely, and once she gets everything unpacked and exactly where she wants it, it'll be perfect. It's just that Rachel pictured her first night away from home in a tiny, potentially smelly dorm room at NYU, or, before getting her acceptance, perhaps in a little shoebox of an apartment in Brooklyn. She's supposed to be getting used to the sound of traffic and making lists in her head of the places in the city she wants to conquer, but when she steps out on her little balcony, all she hears are cicadas humming in the trees that line the courtyard of her complex.

She's trying so hard not to dwell on it, the fact that things aren't going exactly how she's always pictured it, but it just seems unfair.

Her fathers leave after dinner, taking turns pulling her into tight hugs and making her promise to call if she needs anything. "We're only two hours away," Daddy reminds her, his voice stern. She knows that he means it. She knows that her daddy would be there for her no matter what, no matter when, and she loves him so much for that.

She goes to bed early, because even though she has plenty of things to do (unpacking, mostly, and a bit of cleaning), she's tired. She was up early, and she's been up and down the three flights of stairs to her apartment too many times to count, carrying boxes and directing the movers they hired. As soon as her head hits the pillow, it's like the exhaustion drains out of her body to be replaced with restlessness.

It's quiet. She isn't afraid of being by herself, but it's just _different_, being in this place by herself than it was to stay in her fathers' house alone. She can hear the faucet in the bathroom dripping (that will be fixed tomorrow or it will drive her crazy forever, not to mention the gallons of water that are wasted by a single leaky faucet) and the sound of one of her neighbors walking up the stairs, and she just suddenly feel so _alone_ it almost hurts, tightening in her chest.

"'Sup?" Noah says when he answers his phone, and the familiarity of it makes her smile.

"I can't sleep."

He looks over at the clock on his bedside table and rolls his eyes. "It's barely ten o'clock, Rach." He probably should have known she was going to say something like that when he saw her name on his phone; girl's crazy, and he knows she moved into her apartment today.

"I can't turn my mind off," she says, ignoring him. She's learned, over the years, that sometimes the best way to talk to Noah is to just ignore the silly bits and focus on the things that matter. And yes, she's aware that most people approach conversations with her the same way. She can appreciate the irony. "I tried to call Finn, but it went straight to voice mail. I'd call Santana, but I figured you would be less likely to just be cruel."

"You're overestimating me, babe," he teases.

"Noah," she whines. "Talk to me."

"Maybe I'm busy."

Oh. "In that case, I'll let you go, and I'm sorry to have bothered you," she says quickly. She's embarrassed that she would just assume that he had the time - and the inclination - to talk to her.

"Rach, I'm just giving you shit," he laughs. "Why can't you sleep?"

She lets out a sigh, pushing herself up so she's leaning against her headboard a little. The fact that she's never slept in this bed before certainly isn't helping, she knows, but that isn't the real issue. "It's strange to be alone like this," she admits, toying with the edge of her pretty new duvet. "And then I feel silly for feeling strange." She's quiet for a moment, and Puck can tell there's something else, something she isn't saying, so he waits.

"It just isn't the way it's supposed to be," she finally says, her voice so quiet he can just barely hear her.

"Rachel-"

"I'm being ridiculous," she interrupts brusquely.

"Maybe a little," he admits, "but, fuck, you're allowed to be upset about not going to New York."

"It was my decision."

"Well, sometimes we have to make decision that suck," he offers bluntly, and she knows without him saying it that he's thinking of Quinn and Beth. "Jesus," he mutters after a moment. "Tell me about how you're decorating your living room or something."

"Noah, you don't care how I decorate my living room," she laughs.

"Not even a little bit," he admits easily, and it's almost as easy for her to admit how much she appreciates that he's doing this for her, being her distraction.

He listens to her talk for nearly half an hour before she feels that she'll actually be able to sleep. She thanks him quietly, and she manages to sleep for three whole hours before she wakes up to the sound of her dripping bathroom faucet and has to get up to stuff a towel in the sink to muffle the noise. It isn't until after that that she allows herself to cry, curled into a little ball on the left side of her bed and feeling more alone than she has in quite some time.

* * *

><p>It takes Puck about two weeks to decide that he fucking loves college.<p>

They had this English teacher at McKinley last year who spent all of fall semester talking about how hard college was going to be, how studying and balancing all of the shit they had to do was going to be such an adjustment and blah, blah, blah. What she didn't do was tell them about all the awesome parts, like the fact that he's only in class for like, three hours a day and can fuck around the rest of the time and how there are a million and one girls running around in little shorts and tiny skirts while they ride out the end of summer.

And look, he's taking shit seriously. He's doing his reading and going to all of his classes, including the biology lecture that's basically a review of everything he's surprised he remembers from sophomore year. (Considering he spent that year sitting beside Santana and passing filthy notes back and forth with her, it's kind of a surprise that he learned anything in the first place.)

He and Sam are sharing a room in a suite with two other guys, sophomores who roomed together last year and are totally willing to drag Puck and Sam along to house parties and whatever, which works out. Their friends are cool and it's easier than finding their own shit to do right off the bat. Santana lives two floors down in the same building and is already talking about moving off campus next year because she hates her roommate (_'A fucking clone of Quinn Fabray circa 2009, I swear.'_), and Finn's across campus in another dorm with the rest of the freshman football players.

The second weekend of school, he fucks a redhead with Greek letters around her neck when Sam's out playing DD for Santana. He's a little disappointed that her sorority's reputation didn't hold up, but an orgasm is an orgasm, so whatever. He deletes her number out of his phone as soon as she's gone, because even though she was hot, he's not really interested in repeat performances unless it's really fucking great.

Basically, Puck intends to take advantage of every single thing college has to offer. Especially the fun, dirty stuff. Santana ends up being his partner in all that because she has the same idea, and even though Sam's up for a lot of it, he studies like crazy and will actually turn down a night out in favor of writing a term paper. Finn's all caught up in football, even though he's just riding the bench. He has practices and weights and mandatory group study sessions, and he has curfew before every game, so he kind of falls off Puck's radar for the going-out stuff, even though they hang out and have dinner together in the dining hall a couple of times a week and whatever.

Rachel goes back to Lima at least every other weekend, and sometimes every weekend, even though Andrew is doing well. He doesn't ask why, because it's not really any of his business, but it just feels like a waste of the experience (and fuck, if he's thinking in terms like that, he's obviously spent too much time with her). When she is around, she hangs out, and a lot of times it ends up just being the two of them and Santana, which is actually a lot cooler than he would have expected. Neither of them gives him shit about hitting on girls, and they're both fucking hilarious when they drink, though Rachel plays DD more often than not.

If he'd known that college was going to be like this, maybe he wouldn't have bitched so much about high school. That shit was all just a means to an end.

* * *

><p>Nothing is the way it's supposed to be.<p>

College isn't anything like she imagined, but that's probably because she always imagined the part where she was walking the streets of New York, not sitting in classes and completing boring reading assignments and writing term papers. Yes, she'd be doing those things at NYU too, but that really isn't the point. She just feels so trapped here, all the time, no matter what she does.

It's not that she isn't making an effort, though it's admittedly not quite as enthusiastic as it might have been elsewhere. She's made some casual friends in her classes, including Lindsay, a girl she kept running into at the coffee shop on campus before the composition class they share; now they walk together and sit beside one another, which is better than being completely alone even if they aren't going to be the best of friends.

She's still spending time with her friends from Lima, and it's strange, but sometimes, even sitting right beside them, she feels like she's observing from a distance. Sam has always been up front about his learning disorder, but he refuses to use it as an excuse, which she admires so much. He's working hard to keep his scholarship, and she knows from the conversations they've had that he's leaning towards getting his degree in special education. The way he sees it, he'll be a better teacher than the ones he had because he'll actually understand what his students are going through, will know what it's like to look at a page of text and see the letters floating around like hieroglyphic gibberish. Santana is certainly keeping herself busy, engaging psychological warfare with her roommate (whom she hates) while simultaneously sampling the offerings of both men and women at the university. Noah isn't slacking, which Rachel's impressed by, but he's also not holding back from going after his fun, and really, good for him.

She think she could like Columbus if she could just _be_ here, but her heart is in New York and her head is in Lima, so it's difficult. She feels like she's biding her time, treading water until next year, when she'll be where she's supposed to be.

It hasn't escaped her though, the fact that she has this year to spend with her friends. She'd been heartbroken over the fact that she wasn't going to be in New York with Kurt, though she now believes, based on the fact that she's only spoken to him once since school began and her text messages go ignored, that he didn't value her friendship nearly the way she valued his. Here though, she's gotten the chance to get to know Santana away from the pressures of McKinley and the watchful eyes of Quinn Fabray, and she sort of loves the way you always know where you stand with the girl, no questions, no doubts. And, when she can let herself forget about propriety and political correctness, Santana really is hilarious. Sam is as darling as he ever was, and Finn has always made her feel safe in a way that no one else can.

She and Noah have always been better friends than anyone realizes, and going to college hasn't changed that. It isn't that they keep their friendship a secret, but neither of them feels the need to talk about it or advertise it; maybe it's an old habit, leftover from when she didn't want Finn to think anything strange was going on between the two of them but wasn't willing to cut Noah out completely. Rachel kind of likes that they just have this thing for themselves. They have lunch together in the student union every Tuesday afternoon, and they take the opportunity to catch up on what's going on in their lives. She updates him on how Daddy is doing, and he tells her about how he spent his weekend, and they both talk about classes. It's just routine, and she finds that she really likes it.

She goes to a football game with Sam, Santana, and Noah, which she thinks is a waste given that Finn isn't even playing this year. Still, school spirit is important and she figures the game could be fun, so she wears jeans and a gray thermal shirt with an Ohio State tee shirt and winds a scarlet and gray scarf around her neck before walking to campus to meet everyone at Sam and Noah's dorm room.

It's strange, but it's October and she hasn't been in this building once, even though three of her closest friends live here, something she realizes when she's in the elevator on her way up to the boys' floor.

Puck thinks she looks fucking hot as soon as she walks through the door.

He's just laying back on his bed, tossing a tennis ball up at the ceiling and catching it over and over in hopes of pissing off the girls who live above him and Sam because they're fucking loud all the time. Then Rachel comes in with her hair up in a ponytail and a hot ass pair of jeans he's never seen her in, and he doesn't care how cliché it is, girls look hot in school colors, legit. "Your suitemate let me in," she tells him, totally misinterpreting the way he's looking at her.

He sits up and shrugs. "Whatever. You look hot."

"Thank you," she says, feeling her cheeks get warm. He's been talking to her like this for years, but it never fails to embarrass her just a little.

She decides, very quickly, that college football is _fun_, and it's a wonderful surprise.

Puck knows that it's because she's discovered the joys of tailgating.

They're all pretty drunk by kickoff, and Rachel's still sipping from a thermos of Irish coffee that she totally charmed out of some old dude, passing it back and forth between the four of them. (Seriously, the things she gets away with sometimes blow his mind. Guy just handed over a huge stainless steel-looking thermos full of coffee and liquor. That shit doesn't happen in real life.)

It's kind of awesome to see her loosen up just because she doesn't do it very often, but she takes it a little too far and is completely wasted by the end of the game. The Buckeyes win, and she's jumping around so enthusiastically, standing up on the bleachers and screaming her head off (even more proof that she's blitzed, if she's risking her throat like that), that Puck is worried that she's going to fall and break her ankle or something.

"You need to take her home," Santana tells him, eyeing Rachel warily. "Before she starts puking in public."

"That's your job," Rachel tells her matter of factly, because she's watched Santana throw up in public more than once and Rachel never has, thank you very much. But yes, she probably does need to go home, because she can feel it coming.

Puck takes her hand to lead her out of the bleachers, because not only is she drunk (and he's not exactly sober), but like, way underage. And no, she isn't the only one, but Rachel's small enough that he knows people think she's younger than she is, which makes them more likely to get stopped. Having her fall down the bleachers or weaving on her feet is a surefire way to draw attention, attention that he definitely doesn't want right now.

She holds his hand all the way out of the stadium, until they get to a part of campus where the crowd thins out and they can actually walk side by side. She loops her arm through his, smiling when he grins down at her. "It's like high school." She likes walking with him like this, and not just because the wind has picked up and he's all warm and solid beside her.

"Are you gonna take me back to your bedroom and stick your tongue in my mouth?" he asks, smirking when her mouth falls open. "'Cause that's what happened the last time we walked like this in high school."

She shoves at him with her shoulder, stumbling sideways a little with him because she isn't sober enough to keep her balance. "That isn't funny."

"'S'the truth, sweetheart."

She wrinkles her nose. "Be quiet."

'Being quiet' last approximately ten yards, then she's asking him to explain the Big Ten conference to her, interrupting about two minutes after he starts talking (which is fine, because he knows she doesn't give a rat's ass about the Big Ten) to tell him about some Broadway play about Vince Lombardi and Judy Light or whoever. He doesn't mind listening to her talk, not really, so he just kind of lets her voice wash over him as they walk.

She leans against the wall next to the door when they get back to her building, watching him pull his keys out of his pocket to unlock her door. She has a key to her own apartment, of course, but she pulled it off the ring to put it in her pocket before walking to campus and it's sort of buried in there, and besides, he has a key, too. She'd considered giving a spare to Finn, but worried about sending the wrong signal, and she isn't really close enough to Sam. She didn't seriously consider Santana because as much progress as they've made, she doesn't trust the girl not to pull a Regina George. It just had to be Noah.

Rachel doesn't need to be taken care of, not really, but he knows she likes it, so he hangs out. He drinks one of the beers he keeps in her fridge (and yeah, they totally use her apartment for their liquor storage; they weren't kidding about that shit) while she sips from a bottle of water, and even though she bitches about it, they eat these kettle chips she has straight from the bag. He flips channels until she convinces him to watch _Full House_ on DVD - and no, he doesn't know why she has this fucking show on DVD, but whatever. They end up ordering Chinese and spending the whole night just sitting on her couch, and it's the lamest Saturday night he's had since he got to college, but she's cracking him up, so it's cool.

That's the thing about Rachel. Somehow, she makes even totally lame stuff fucking fun, which doesn't really make any sense. And like, she knows he's humoring her, but she doesn't try to do anything else, and he kind of digs that about her, how she just doesn't give a fuck. (Except she would never, ever say it like that, but whatever.) She's just an easy girl to spend time with.


	4. Chapter 4

Puck kind of loves Thanksgiving.

Being Jewish, all that Christmas spirit shit doesn't mean anything to him, and yeah, Hanukkah is the same time of year, but it's not even the most important Jewish holiday. (As far as he can figure, Christmas isn't actually the most important Christian holiday either, even if they celebrate it that way, so fuck it all.) Thanksgiving though: That's a holiday every gluttonous American can get behind, right?

Seriously though, his mom's an awesome cook, and she makes these pumpkin doughnut muffin things that she only makes for Thanksgiving that he looks forward to all year. There's a long weekend off from school, there's football, and even though their house will be full of cousins and shit all day Thursday, there's basically nothing bad about Thanksgiving.

He and Sam drive to Lima together on Tuesday night after they both get out of class. Sam's bringing a bunch of school stuff back so he can get ahead before finals, which is all well and good, and but Puck intends to do fuck all this weekend. Seriously, other than eating himself into a coma, he has no plans.

He hasn't been home since the semester started, so he hasn't seen his mom since August, and he isn't at all surprised that she meets him out on the front porch, pulling him into a hug so tight it literally hurts his ribs. She calls him every few days to check in, but he's never going to be the guy having long heart-to-hearts with his mom, on the phone or otherwise, and it's just different than living in the same house with her. Abby's got a totally new attitude since she's started middle school, making her act like she's completely indifferent to Puck being there at all, and whatever. He remembers what bitches all the girls were in middle school, and it's not at all a surprise that Abby's one of those bitches, too. Being a jerk is like, a Puckerman thing.

Besides, she ends up giving him a hug after dinner, right after she tells him that he looks stupid with the beard he's let grow out.

(His mom hates it, too, and screw 'em both. It's no-shave November. He'll shave next month.)

He's the last one awake in the house, because Abby still has school for half a day tomorrow and his mom has to work, and honestly, he's kind of digging being in his own room, alone and in his not-tiny bed. And yeah, having a dinner his mom cooked totally beats the stuff he eats in the dining hall every night at school. The house is quiet in a way that the dorms never are, and while he'd normally watch TV or listen to his iPod or whatever until he went to sleep, he ends up picking up some book Rachel left in his room over the summer (or lent to him to read, whatever), reading until his eyes start to close, and just enjoying the quiet.

* * *

><p>"We need to talk."<p>

Rachel knew things were off the second she walked into the house, so she isn't terribly surprised to hear Daddy say those words during dinner. She sets her fork down slowly and folds her hands in her lap, pretending that she can't feel Dad's intent gaze on her face from beside her. "All right."

"I got the results from my appointment on Friday," Andrew begins, letting out a little sigh. "They found something, so I went in this morning, for more tests, and they-"

"Please just tell me," Rachel interrupts. She doesn't need all the details, not right now. Later, yes, she'll need to know everything, but right now, she just needs him to get to the point.

He presses his lips together and looks at her for just a moment before speaking. "It's back and it's likely terminal."

She swallows hard and reminds herself to breathe. "How long?"

"Rachel," her dad begins.

"How long?" she repeats more firmly, looking straight at her daddy.

"Three to six months."

The desire to bolt is there immediately, and she wonders, sort of vaguely, when she became the girl who wants to run away. She's always been more the type to put herself in to the middle of stressful situations, not avoid them, but this, with her father, is somehow different. She promised her dad that she wouldn't do that again, wouldn't leave without letting them know that she was okay (though she can't imagine how she's supposed to be okay when she's getting news like this, that her daddy is dying, this time with some measure of certainty), and that's not a promise that she wants to break.

"Okay," she says after a long moment. She looks down at the pasta on her plate. It looks completely unappetizing, but she doesn't want her daddy to be worrying about her when he should be concentrating on his own health. That's why she picks up her fork again, spears a bite, and chews it carefully.

Her composure lasts exactly three bites before she sets her fork down again and looks across the table at her daddy. "What happens now?" She's not sure she really wants to answer, but she has to ask.

Andrew sighs, dropping his fork onto the table and pushing his plate back. "Palliative chemo."

"Palliative," she repeats. Palliative care is meant to make patients comfortable when there isn't anything else to be done. She hates how much of this jargon she knows, this terrible language of cancer. She imagines the next few months will be full of terms like _palliative_ and _metastatic_ and _quality of life_. "So you're just giving up?"

He shakes his head a little. "There isn't anything else to do, sweetheart. Because of where it's spread."

"I don't understand," she whispers. "A month ago, you were fine."

He shrugs his shoulders helplessly, and that just sums it all up, doesn't it?

She wakes early the next morning to help prepare dinner. Apparently cancer isn't a good enough reason to cancel a holiday meal, so she busies herself with rolling pie crust and slicing apples while her fathers work on the rest of the meal. Truthfully, she wants to be alone, but they celebrate Thanksgiving with her dad's family every year, and this year is their turn to host.

Rachel loves her family, she really does. The two sides sometimes feel incredibly distinct: They look different, obviously, have different religious backgrounds and beliefs, and just generally behave in very different ways, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't love them both. She appreciates her Jewish nana's meddlesome gossiping just as much as her grandfather telling her every time he sees her that she needs to 'get some meat on her bones.' She has aunts and uncles and cousins on both sides, and while her nuclear family makes her - them, the three of them - the black sheep, it's one of the places in the world that she always feels like she belongs. And that's precisely what family is supposed to be: unconditional love and acceptance.

Just like every year, Rachel ends up explaining her rationale for her veganism to Aunt Donna and discussing her (lack of) love life with her nana. (Rachel was the first grandchild, and Nana has been talking about getting great-grandchildren since Rachel was about eleven; it's such a cliché that it's become somehow endearing.) Her uncle and a couple of her cousins are watching football in the basement, while everyone else seems to have congregated in the kitchen to make food preparation as difficult as possible for those involved. It's a completely normal holiday.

Except for the wet blanket of her father's illness that's been thrown over the whole thing.

Things are quieter than they would usually be, more subdued. For her own part, Rachel is lying about enjoying Columbus and OSU, playing along with everyone else who's pretending that she isn't heartbroken by the fact that she isn't in New York because her daddy is dying. They're all speaking so carefully, avoiding references to simple things like Daddy's accounting job or anything further in the future than Christmas.

And god, Christmas is going to be a nightmare. Daddy was raised Christian and never officially converted to Judaism, so they celebrate the holiday with his family every year. That's part of the reason that Dad's family always gets Thanksgiving celebrations. They'll spend the day in Cleveland and she's absolutely certain that the funereal feeling of today is going to be infinitely worse with her daddy's family around.

She still doesn't have much of an appetite, but she makes herself a plate and eats the food that she doesn't really taste, ignoring Aunt Donna's worried gaze. (Honestly, the woman is ridiculous. Just because Rachel isn't eating turkey and macaroni and cheese doesn't mean that she's malnourished.) Nana, bless her, seems to be the only person at the table mindful and capable enough to keep a normal conversation moving, and the way she's sitting at the head of the table opposite Dad makes it feel like she's holding court. She gets Clayton talking about basketball season coming up, asks Rachel about finals, and even brings up the insurance debates going on in the media despite the fact that insurance seems to be on the list of taboo topics when there's a terminal cancer patient sitting at the table.

Truly, Rachel has never loved her nana more.

Everyone else, however, is making her crazy, so she retreats to the kitchen to start putting leftovers into storage containers and rinsing dishes while the rest of the family sits in the dining room with coffee and dessert. It's simply overwhelming, feeling like she needs to play hostess to her extended family when she hasn't even had a chance to process her own thoughts on what's going on.

(She's stopped thinking about Daddy's illness in terms of her feelings; it's been months since she really _felt_ anything about it.)

She's arranging the last of the dinner plates in the dishwasher when she hears steps on the tile floor, and honestly, if she hears the word _protein_ again from her aunt's mouth, she's going to scream. She's relieved when it's Nana who steps up beside her and reaches for the coffee pot.

She watches Rachel gather flatware from the sink and arrange it in the dishwasher, sipping her coffee thoughtfully. "How are you, Rachel?"

She looks at her grandmother strangely, closing the dishwasher and straightening up. "Fine."

"Rachel." The woman shakes her head and sets her coffee cup down, takes a step closer. "How are you?"

She's already tired of having these conversations again. It's only been a day and she hasn't told any of her friends about her father's condition, and she's already exhausted by the concerned looks and the carefully worded questions.

Rachel considers the question for a moment, then shrugs. "I don't know."

"Having everybody here must be hard."

She isn't quite sure if she loves or hates her nana for the knowing look in her eyes.

"You should sneak out of here," Nana says, obviously serious under her casual tone. "Go spend time with some of your friends, see a movie."

"Nana-"

"Don't argue with me." Her tone brooks no nonsense, then she's slipping her hand inside the collar of her blouse, producing a twice-folded twenty dollar bill (the one she keeps tucked beneath her bra strap habitually), and pressing it into Rachel's palm. "I'll make your excuses. Get out of here."

Rachel lets out a little breath, then pulls her grandmother into a hug. "Thank you, Nana."

"Bubbala," Nana murmurs against her hair. "You're going to be okay." Rachel nods, blinking rapidly against the sting in her eyes. "Go."

She slips upstairs quickly to grab her things, and she actually manages to get out the front door and into her car without being caught. Part of her wonders exactly what excuses Nana is going to make, but she's mostly just glad to be out of the house.

She doesn't really think about where she's going until she's out of the driveway and turning off her street, but Nana's movie suggestion seems as good as anything else. There's a little theater downtown, one of those places with a single screen and balcony seating that shows only classic films, and honestly, she'd rather watch something in black and white than sit through two hours of the latest insipid romantic comedy.

It feels like a gift just for her when she sees _Roman Holiday_ on the marquee.

She's just ten minutes late for the latest showing, so she buys her ticket and slips into the darkened theater, choosing a seat on the opposite side of the room from the couple whose empty theater experience she's ruining, sitting closer to the screen than they are so she isn't distracted by whatever they may choose to do over there. (Really, with friends like Puck and Santana, inappropriate thoughts like that shouldn't surprise her any more.)

She loses herself in the movie, swept away by the vision of Audrey Hepburn as a European princess and Gregory Peck as her handsome American. It's escapism at its best: in black and white, with an impossibly charming leading man and and an unspeakably beautiful woman, falling in love for just a moment. Rachel sits in the dark, her scarf still wound around her neck and her feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of her, and lets herself wish for a man like Gregory Peck.

Doing this was exactly what she needed, and when the lights come up after the film ends, Rachel thinks, not for the first time, that grandmothers are always right.

She checks her phone on her way back to her car and finds a text message from Daddy. _Your aunt is still here. I'd stay out late if I were you._

It makes her smile, because her clashes with Aunt Donna have never exactly gone unnoticed. The less time the two of them spend together, the better.

She considers her options while she sits with her car running in the parking lot, but frankly, there aren't very many thing to do in Lima at eight o'clock on a holiday evening, and after a few minutes, she's tapping out a quick text to Noah.

She's got her hands hidden in the pockets of her pink wool coat when Puck opens the door, a candy-striped looking scarf wound around her neck and her hair pulled back away from her face.

He was kind of surprised when she texted him. He'd always figured she'd be all about the family time stuff, but she mentioned something about an overbearing aunt and asked if he minded having some company. His own family has only been gone for a couple of hours - the house was a fucking zoo all day - but he doesn't mind if Rachel comes and hangs out.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she asks, unbuttoning her coat when she's standing inside the front door. Her eyes are lowered just a little, like she's afraid that he's going to tell her to go away. That's pretty stupid, considering that he told her to come over when she texted him.

"Nope." He takes her coat and drapes it over the staircase railing next to his. His mom hates that shit, but he's been doing it forever, so he's not sure why she ever bothers to say anything any more.

The house is warm, from cooking and having people in it all day, Rachel assumes, and smells like coffee and cinnamon. She can hear his mom's voice in the kitchen when he starts leading her up the stairs.

She isn't completely sure what she intends to do now that she's here. The only reason she's here at all is because she didn't want to go home and didn't really have anywhere else to do. Sam is the only other one of her friends she knows for sure is town today, and she doesn't really feel comfortable imposing herself on his family during the holidays. Somehow, it's different with Noah. (And no, she can't explain it.)

"Is your family as fucking annoying as mine?" he asks, closing the door and flopping down on the bed.

"Probably not," she answers honestly, biting her lip a little when he raises his eyebrows. "It's just...one of those days, I guess."

She shrugs her shoulders, perching on the edge of his desk chair.

She looks sort of weird, like there's something she's not saying. But, fuck, the girl isn't the open book she used to be, isn't laying it all out there like she did when they were in high school, before all the stuff with her dad, and that's fine. If she wants to tell him shit, okay. If not, whatever.

He watches her for a minute, trying to figure out what the hell's going on with her. When he can't figure it out, he asks, "Wanna get drunk?" She blinks at him. "There're a bunch of bottles of wine downstairs. My mom'll never notice if we snag one."

Rachel thinks that sounds sort of wonderful.

"Okay."

"Every girl should get to have a man like Gregory Peck," she insists, gesturing at him with her fork. "It's a damn shame that it's so hard to find one."

They killed a bottle of red in less than an hour, and since they split it pretty evenly, Rachel's drunk and Puck's just feeling good. And that's kind of the best way to be around her when she drinks, because the girl's hilarious, and being just a little drunk yourself makes her even funnier. Now she's sitting on his bedroom floor eating fruit crisp made with pears and plums because she refuses to eat anything sitting on his bed, where he's still sitting.

(And he's like, ninety-eight percent sure the crumbly part on top of that crisp was made with butter, but she didn't ask and he's sure as fuck not going to volunteer the recipe and make her stop eating it when she's obviously enjoying it the way she is.)

"Who the fuck is Gregory Peck?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, scooping another little bite onto her fork. "He's the male lead the movie I saw earlier."

"About the princess who doesn't want to be a princess."

"Right." She chews her bite thoughtfully. "He's Atticus Finch."

Jesus, this girl is random. And fuck, Puck isn't even drunk. It's not like he's missing shit. "What?"

"Do you remember watching _To Kill a Mockingbird_ freshman year?"

No. "Sure."

She rolls her eyes. "Gregory Peck plays Atticus Finch. The dad." She huffs out a breath when he doesn't really react, but damn. This whole line of conversation doesn't really apply to him anyhow; what the hell good is talking about the perfect man?

"Hepburn was one of those classy chicks," he offers, sliding down onto the floor next to her. He snags the fork from her hand and steals a bite from her plate.

Rachel hands him the rest of her dessert to finish and stretches her legs out in front of her. Thinking about Gregory Peck's perfection got her thinking about the boys she's had in her life (Finn, Jesse, Noah, to a certain extent) and just how long it's been since she's had that sort of attention. Almost exactly six months, which is just sad, really. Romance has been the last thing on her mind, and while it's nice on one hand (her love life has been the second-most important thing in her world for the past three years, after all, just behind her music, and so stressful), it's just not fair that it's been six months since she's even been kissed.

"How's your daddy doing?" Noah asks around a mouthful of crisp. It's become one of the standard questions she gets when she talks to her friends, and it will never cease to amuse her to hear the word 'daddy' coming from their mouths, Noah's in particular. And actually, the question has come later tonight than it normally would, given that she's been her for over an hour.

"Not well, actually," she answers after a moment. Puck reaches up behind him to set the plate on his desk, because this doesn't sound like the kind of conversation you have while you eat dessert. "The cancer is back," she says softly. "Or it was never gone." She shrugs one shoulder and shakes her head a little. "It's bad."

It's completely ridiculous, she thinks, that she keeps showing up here and dropping these bombshells on Noah, but it isn't like she plans it. Honestly, she doesn't want to talk about it at all right now, and she wasn't going to bring it up. God, that was the whole point of leaving her house earlier. But he asked, and she doesn't want to lie.

"That sucks," he says, because really, what the hell else is he supposed to say? It does suck, and if the tiny little smiles she gives him is anything to go on, she agrees.

And fuck, just like the last time she sat in his room and told him her dad was dying (what a fucking tradition they've got going here), he doesn't know what to say. Is there a 'right' thing to say to someone when she tells you one of her parents is dying?

At a loss, he finally says, "Wanna open another bottle and get wasted?"

"Oh, my god," she laughs. "I really, really do."

* * *

><p>Rachel wakes up on Friday morning in Noah's bed, fully dressed, with a splitting headache and a terrible taste in her mouth, and drinking most of a bottle of wine on her own now strikes her as a really awful idea in a way that she neglected to consider before she did it last night. She manages to get herself out of his bed, then tears the back off an envelope she finds on his desk, scrawls a quick note, and leaves him there asleep when she slips out of his bedroom.<p>

Her intention is to creep out the house unnoticed, but Rachel can hear Noah's mother moving around in the kitchen when she's tiptoeing down the stairs, and it's just rude to leave without saying anything.

Marlene smiles at her when she appears in the kitchen doorway. "Well, you're up bright and early for a wino."

She grimaces. "I'm sorry." Rachel can't decide what, exactly, she should apologize for: drinking in the woman's house, playing along when Noah started pilfering bottles of wine from the kitchen, spending the night in his bed without having permission.

Marlene waves her hand as she takes a sip of coffee from the red mug in her hand. "Did you have a good Thanksgiving?"

Rachel manages a little smile with her nod, but then Marlene has this knowing look on her face. "My dad's cancer..." she trails off helplessly. "He's really dying this time."

Marlene sets her mug down with a sigh. "Oh, honey."

"Unless something miraculous happens, I just had my last Thanksgiving with my daddy," she says, realizing it for the first time, eyes wide as she looks at the sympathetic expression on Noah's mother's face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Rachel, there isn't anything you're _supposed_ to do," Marlene says gently. "Except probably not drinking to excess when you're underage."

Rachel actually smiles a little when she nods.

"Rachel..." Marlene pauses, takes a drink of her coffee like she needs a moment to decide exactly what she wants to say. "If you ever feel like you need to talk, find someone to listen. A friend or your dad or a counselor at school. Hell, call me," she adds with a little grin. "Don't hold it all in, what you're feeling."

Rachel thinks better of mentioning that she doesn't _feel_ much of anything about all of this, about her father, and hasn't really from the beginning. Instead, she just says, "I will. I promise," she adds at Marlene's pointed look.

Noah's mother nods, then holds up a finger, turns to the refrigerator, and pulls out a rather large bottle of red Gatorade. "Drink this," she advises, handing the bottle to Rachel. "And take two Advil."

"Thank you, Mrs. Puckerman."

She waves her hand. "Call me Marlene."

* * *

><p>Puck meets this girl in a computer lab on campus the week before finals. He's in the lab working on his sociology paper because Sam has actually parked his ass in their room to study for his Spanish final, and he's working through fucking Rosetta Stone or something on his computer, looking at pictures of cats and mispronouncing the word <em>gato<em> and whatever the hell else. (For his part, Puck took two years of Spanish with Schue and spent four years fucking Santana; he knows some shit, which makes listening to Sam pretty painful.) Plus, part of his tuition pays for computers and paper and whatever, so he might as well take advantage of it.

He has his notes and whatever spread out to the right of his keyboard, referring to the stuff while he types and making notes with his pen, and it's actually not a bad system. Until this chick sits at the workstation next to his and starts arranging her own stuff (a yellow three-ring binder and a huge text he recognizes as a literature anthology) to the left of her own keyboard, right up next to his.

He's just about to open his mouth and say something about the fact that she's crowding him when she reaches over to underline a bit of text in her book with her left hand, and he bites his tongue.

Puck has a theory about left-handed girls: He's pretty sure they're all freaks, secretly or not-so-secretly.

Admittedly, most of his theory is based on his knowledge of one Santana Lopez, the first girl he ever fucked, the girl he's spent the most time doing filthy things with. But there was also Nikki Roberts, who was really into taking it in the back door (she surprised the fuck out of Puck when she brought it up), and Mrs. Garcia, a cougar from his pool cleaning days who kept handcuffs in her bedside table drawer and liked to wear them.

The girl sitting next to him has chin-length red hair and creamy skin, and her fingernails are painted a red so dark it's nearly black. The sleeves of her gray sweatshirt are pushed up to her elbows, and she alternates between typing really fucking fast - quoting things from her text, if the direction of her gaze is any indication - and going more slowly, pausing every few seconds, like she's thinking about what she wants to say.

And she's distracting the fuck out of him.

It really is an accident when he knocks her pencil off the edge of the table with his notebook. He's just trying to get his shit together so he can head back to his room and find something to eat. He leans over to grab the pencil before she gets a chance, smiles when she takes it with a '_thank you.'_ "I'm Puck."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "I'm busy."

Bitch. But now that he's really looking at her, he sees these huge brown eyes, and he's pretty sure that only good things are going on underneath that sweatshirt. He just nods, snagging the pen from behind his ear and flicking through the pages in her notebook until he finds a blank one, ignoring the way she's glaring at him. He scrawls his cell number, then offers her a wink while he caps the pen. "Later."

He stands up, shoulders his bag, and walks away before she can say anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel's last final of the semester happens to fall on her birthday, but given that she doesn't feel particularly festive, she isn't too bothered. She's finished with her exam by noon and is on the road to Lima before two, sipping a soy gingerbread latte from Starbucks and listening to a playlist of her favorite Christmas songs while she drives.

Winter break is a relief. Rachel has always liked school, but this is perhaps the first time in her life when she isn't pursuing the arts as part of her academics. All of her classes this semester were straightforward gen eds, and frankly, it was boring. But she refuses to declare her major here at OSU; she's approaching it more like one would approach a community college, as a chance to get the basics out of the way before getting into the classes that really matter, focusing in on the thing that you really want to do.

She'll do what she wants to do when she gets to New York.

And it's stressful, going back and forth, feeling torn between two places. She goes home every weekend now, unwilling to give up any of her time with her daddy while she still has it. She barely has time for the friends she has, let alone the time to meet new people at school the way she knows she's supposed to be. She still has lunch with Noah once a week, and she and Santana watch _House_ every Monday night. (Even if it is a torture of sorts, watching a medical drama, Hugh Laurie is an exceptional actor, and Santana started watching when Olivia Wilde joined the cast.) But she can't even remember the last time she saw Finn, he's so caught up with football practices and such, though he doesn't yet play in games, and she certainly isn't befriending anyone new.

Maybe that's for the better though. Why put the effort into building new friendships in Ohio when she's only going to be here for a little longer? What's the sense in subjecting herself to even more goodbyes when the time comes?

Rock Hudson is sitting in the front hall when Rachel lets herself into the house, his tail curled around his feet while he watches her with enormous green eyes. He's starting to lose some of his kittenish looks, which she finds more sad than she expected. There's something inexplicably adorable about a kitten, and she hates to see him lose it.

She really loves this cat, the way that he spends most of his time trailing Daddy through the house, but is in the habit of sleeping next to her if she's doing reading on her bed in the afternoon or early evening. She's never heard a cat purr louder than Rock, a deep, soothing sound that's nearly constant when he's asleep. She also likes the idea, however absurd, that Rock is watching out for her fathers, keeping an eye on him in his cat way.

She's sitting at the table with her fathers after dinner, eating mango sorbet and discussing the particulars (and ridiculousness) of Freud's stages of psycho-sexual development when the doorbell rings. Dad goes to answer it, and reappears a moment later with Santana. "You're coming with me," she girl announces, sliding into the open seat a the table. She snags Rachel's spoon from her hand and takes a little bite of sorbet.

"Pardon me?"

Santana looks at her pointedly. "It's your birthday, and we're going to celebrate."

Rachel glances at her daddy. "But-"

"Go," he interrupts with a smile. "Have fun. Be safe," he adds, almost like an afterthought. Rachel is very open with her parents, and while she isn't prone to crazy nights out, they're aware that she drinks on occasion, usually with Santana and/or Noah. She appreciates that she doesn't have to lie to them.

"Fine," she says, holding up her hands.

They end up at a little dive bar just outside the city limits, and while Rachel has her fake ID, Santana's cleavage is apparently all the man behind the bar needs to see to be convinced to serve them a pitcher of margaritas. And another.

And another.

The more tequila they drink, the sillier their conversation gets. Rachel always finds herself wishing that she and Santana had gotten over their mutual animosity sooner than they did, that they could have had this sort of relationship from the beginning of their time together in glee club rather than only coming to a sort of tacit agreement to leave one another alone sometime in the middle of senior year. Of course, they've both grown enormously since then, and maybe it's that growth that has allowed them to become such friends.

Adding alcohol certainly doesn't hurt.

It's all silliness, the conversations they're having, and that's just fine with Rachel. She's more than content to listen to Santana's stories about her weekends out, her anecdotes about the men (and women) she's bedded since school started. Rachel's never really had any girlfriends, so talking to Santana like this is still a wonderful novelty, even if it's all sort of sitting on the surface.

It's when Santana suggests getting pitcher number four that Rachel offers the alternative of calling someone to come and take them home so they don't spend their entire Saturday throwing up and feeling terrible. Rachel knows her own tolerance, and if she's being completely honest, she's already had more to drink than she should have. Still, she has enough self-preservational instincts to decline any more tequila.

Noah is the one who comes to get them, sauntering into the bar like he's been here a hundred times (possibly he has) and taking a seat next to Rachel. "'S'up, lushes?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Obviously, drinking margaritas for Rachel's birthday is what's up."

"Hey, that's right. Happy birthday," Puck says, nudging Rachel with his elbow. "You're like, twenty-five now, right?"

Rachel just rolls her eyes, tapping a button on her phone to illuminate the screen. "Technically, it isn't my birthday any more," she points out when she sees that it's after midnight.

"Fuck that," Santana interjects. "It's your birthday until you go to sleep. It's like a rule."

Rachel blinks. "If you say so."

Rachel ends up riding bitch in Puck's truck because Santana has always refused to do it, even when they were dating, and _'just because it's her birthday doesn't mean that shit changes.'_ Whatever. Santana's house is closer to the bar than Rachel's, so he drops her off first, and Rachel stays there in the middle seat even after Santana's gone.

"Oh, my gosh," she says suddenly, looking up at him with huge eyes. "I can't go home."

"Because you're drunk?"

"No. Well, yes, but because chemo has made Daddy a really light sleeper. I can't wake him up because I decided to go drinking with Santana."

It didn't even occur to her before now, which makes her feel like a terrible daughter, but in her own defense, she doesn't generally go out at all when she's home for the weekends. The whole point of being at home is to spend time with her fathers, which she would decidedly not be doing if she ran out with whoever every time she was home. (And really, who? Brittany and her friends who are still in high school? That isn't very likely.)

"I think you just want to sleep all up next to this," Noah says cockily. Rachel pretends her cheeks don't warm a little at the thought.

"Your mother won't mind, will she?" She realizes that she's just invited herself to his house, but he doesn't seem too upset by it, so she doesn't dwell. Just like she isn't dwelling on the idea of sleeping beside him again. Besides, she isn't sure that either of those times - crying herself to exhaustion and passing out drunk - really count as sleeping at all.

"Nah. She'll go on one of her 'you should marry that Rachel Berry' jags, but whatever." He shrugs his shoulders as he rolls through a stop sigh. "I can handle it."

"You should marry Rachel Berry?" she repeats, her eyebrows raised as she turns to look at him. Her eyes are sort of glassy with booze under the street lights, and her hair's kind of a mess from the wind outside and, you know, being drunk.

He just shrugs his shoulders again, a little grin on his lips when he glances over at her.

She busies herself with sending Dad a text message while Noah drives, letting her parents know that she's safe and well for the evening and will see them tomorrow, and ignoring the fact that she can feel herself blushing as Noah drives through Lima's deserted streets.

He tells her to go on upstairs when he unlocks the front door of his house, and she does as he says, not even bothering to pull her coat off before going up to his room and pushing the door most the way closed behind her. Noah's been home for a day longer than she has, she knows, and where there's still a packed bag and a few odds and ends from her apartment that she wanted in Lima sitting around her own bedroom, his things have all been put away. The room is tidy, like it was at Thanksgiving, tidier than it was all summer; it's a sign that no one really lives here, and she thinks that it's the sort of room that looks like it's meant to have clutter. The tidiness is strange.

She's shrugging out of her red wool coat when he comes in carrying two bottles of water and a box of Wheat Thins. "Are you going to be hungover tomorrow?" he asks, waiting until she's draped her coat over the back of his desk chair to hand her a bottle of water. Puck doesn't really care if she is, but he likes to have a little warning.

She shakes her head, but it takes her three tries to get the lid screwed off the water bottle, which leads him to believe she isn't really a reliable judge of her own drunkenness. "Can I borrow something to sleep in?" she asks in this quiet little voice.

"Yeah."

She watches him open a dresser drawer and pull out a gray McKinley tee shirt everyone she knows from high school has - Rachel has one herself, albeit in a smaller size. He hands it to her, then his eyes flick quickly down her body and back to her eyes.

"Lemme find you a pair of shorts or something." He knows there are a pair or two of the tiny cotton ones Santana used to wear for cheerleading practice that somehow wound up in his room permanently. (He wonders, now, what the fuck she wore home if she left her shorts at his.)

"It's fine," she says, shaking her head when he looks like he's going to move again. "The shirt is long enough to cover everything."

She turns to face the wall when she pulls her sweater up over her head, and she isn't ashamed to admit that it's because she's shy at the idea of being in any state of undress in front of Noah. She waits until she's wearing his tee shirt, which falls to the middle of her thighs, to shimmy out of her jeans, tossing them over the back of his desk chair with her coat. He's unbuckling his belt when she turns around, his tee shirt already discarded. "Which side is yours?" she asks, keeping her eyes on his face as he pushes his jeans down around his feet.

Her cheeks are a little pink when he nods at the right side of the bed, where his alarm clock sits. He waits until she's slipped beneath the covers on the to flick off the light, crossing the dark room slowly so he can get in beside her. She's already curled up on her side with her back to him, and once his eyes adjust to the dimness, he can see her hair fanned out over the pillow. "Night, Rach."

"Good night, Noah." She can feel how warm he is behind her, and she resists the urge to roll over and curl into his side. It's been ages since she fell asleep all wrapped up in someone's arms, and she misses it. She's always tried to resist being the needy drunk though, tries not to cling to the people around her even when she feels compelled. Noah was nice enough to pick them up from the bar and to let her stay in his bed. She isn't going to take advantage of his hospitality any more be pressing herself up against him.

She jumps when he says her name, startled even though his voice is low and sleepy. "Happy birthday."

She blinks into the darkness around her. "Thanks."

It doesn't feel so happy. She's spent the entire day thinking about the fact that this is the last birthday she'll ever have with her daddy alive. It's a thought that follows her constantly, with everything she does, and it makes it difficult to feel festive about anything.

* * *

><p>Puck's pretty glad to be get back to school after winter break. Yeah, having his own room at home and having all that time to fuck around is awesome, but he's also not used to having to check in with anyone when he wants to stay out, not used to trying to watch his mouth because his sister's around and it pisses his mom off when he swears. (Which is fucking ridiculous, given that Abby's been known to drop the occasional curse herself. She's twelve. It's not like she's never heard someone swear.)<p>

Sam is kind of cramping Puck's style though. See, the guy has decided that he's going to try to become a resident adviser next year. He spouts off a bunch of bullshit (not really) about how being an RA will get his room and board paid for, and he'll get vouchers for the bookstore, not to mention how good it's going to look on resumes and blah, blah, blah. It sounds like a huge fucking headache. Puck's actually a considerate guy, so he makes a point of getting rid of the alcohol he had squirreled away in the back of his wardrobe and not deliberately pissing off their RA just in case the dude somehow has pull over whether or not Sam gets hired.

That means that he can't pregame in the dorms any more, and since Rachel's apartment is his booze storage, he ends up over there a lot more than he did last semester. Some of that is on weekends when she's back in Lima and he has to let himself in with the spare key he has, but it's not like he's hanging out in her place when she isn't home. That would just be weird. So he goes in, gets what he needs, and leaves. She knows he does it though, because she leaves him little notes in her neat print, pink post-its stuck to the front of the bottles in the cabinet above her fridge (the one he knows she has to stand on a chair to reach) reminding him to be careful or suggesting that he try mixing the vodka with the cranberry-pomegranate juice she has in her fridge. (_It'll be delicious!_)

And then there's the girl from the computer lab, Mia.

She waits until February to call him, and he's actually forgotten about her. Then, since it's two weeks before Valentine's Day, he's half-scared to call her back. Chicks trap you with that shit, and it somehow turns into a _thing_ when it's just a thing, and Puck isn't really interested in anything but getting his dick wet. Okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but he definitely isn't interested in winding up being somebody's boyfriend just because he starts hanging out with her a week before Valentine's Day.

But it turns out that Mia's actually pretty fucking cool.

They start with just texting, which is probably pretty stupid given that they live less than a hundred yards from each other, but whatever. She comes to dinner with him and Sam sometimes, and Santana doesn't think Mia's a complete bitch when she meets her. (Not that that means anything; she half-hated Quinn and definitely thought she was a bitch, but they were still friends.) Mia doesn't really expect anything of Puck other than doing what he says he's going to do, which makes sense. She isn't playing games with him, and it kind of feels like it did when he thought he was in love with Lauren or whatever back in high school, when he really wanted to get to know her and actually be something together.

Except Mia's smoking hot and he wants to get her naked like, yesterday. So.

She's a creative writing major, and she takes school really seriously, but Puck convinces her to go out with him on a Thursday night before midterms, citing the fact that she just turned in her zine for her poetry class and can take one weeknight away to have fun and the bottle of Seagram's he bought after she told him that she liked gin.

The house they're going to is just a few blocks off campus, and Rachel's place is on the way, so he can pick up the gin without feeling like an ass for bringing booze into the guys' room.

Rachel is sitting on her couch in a pair of pink plaid lounge pants and a mismatched OSU sweatshirt of Santana's, reading an analysis of the myth of Sisyphus and watching an old _Scrubs_ rerun when Noah knocks on the door. He sent her a text to let her know he was coming, so she calls out a _'come in'_ and turns the page in her book.

She's a little surprised when he walks in with a tall, gorgeous redhead.

Rachel is immediately uncomfortable, frumpy and ugly in her ill-fitting sweatshirt and glorified pajama pants, sitting in the same room as this girl with knee-high leather boots and perfectly drawn cat's eye liner. "Hi," she says, standing and setting her book on the coffee table. She's nothing if not well-mannered, so she smiles at the girl. "I'm Rachel."

"Mia." Rachel watches a full body shiver go through the girl. It's freezing outside. "It's nice to meet you."

"Gin," Noah interjects, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

Rachel rolls her eyes a little, and her hand comes up to touch the ends of her hair when she starts towards the kitchen. "Would you like some tea?" she offers, ignoring Puck and looking over her shoulder at Mia. He really hopes she says no, because he really wants to get to this party.

(He's sort of dying to know what Mia's like when she drunks, if he's being honest. But he does know better than to say that shit out loud.)

"No, thanks," Mia says, and Puck does a little internal fist pump. "I'm sorry we interrupted your reading."

Rachel waves her hand, grabbing the yellow tea kettle from where it sits on the stove top while Noah reaches into the cabinet over the fridge for his liquor. "It's no problem. I'm used to Puck's intrusions."

He looks over at her, standing at the sink filling the kettle. It's weird to hear his nickname come out of her mouth. Not unheard of, but a little weird. She doesn't even acknowledge that he's looking at her, just turns off the faucet and sets her kettle on a burner, turning a knob to heat the electric coil. "Are you sure you don't want to come out with us?" he asks her.

She leans against the counter, tucks her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt, and looks at him. "No, thank you. I have reading to finish for class tomorrow."

Maybe it makes him an ass, especially since she's his friend, but he's relieved she said no. "All right. We'll get out of your way."

She follows them to the door so she can lock it behind them, telling Mia that it was nice to meet her and reminding Noah to call if he needs a ride. And once she's alone again, she tries to figure out exactly why she's feeling this tightness in her stomach that she recognizes as jealousy.

She knows that she's missing out on this whole college experience thing. There's an enormous part of her that wants everything that Noah and Sam and Santana and even Finn get to have. She wants to flirt with the boy in her economics class who's been watching her not-so-discreetly from day one, wants to indulge in a semi-illicit affair, wants to go out drinking on a Thursday night because she doesn't have to worry about being able to drive back to Lima the next afternoon.

She wants to be able to go out with Noah right now, to drink too much gin and have fun without feeling guilty for forgetting for just five minutes about her father and how miserable he's been for the last month.

The tea kettle whistling in the kitchen pulls her out of her thoughts, forcing her, for just two minutes, to focus on the motions of preparing a cup of herbal tea for herself. It doesn't do any good to think about any of this, what she's missing out on and what could have been if her father hadn't gotten sick and she'd been able to go to New York like she'd always planned.

It's a train of thought she's ridden plenty of times since last May, since the day when she called her perfect school in her perfect city and told them that she wasn't coming. It never fails to make her feel guilty and selfish and _sad_. She tries not to let herself dwell in that space; it's too easy to get sucked in and spend days and days feeling terrible, but sometimes she just can't help it.

It keeps her up late, these thoughts, and the sound of her alarm the next morning seems like the worst thing ever in the moment. She finds it incredibly difficult to focus in her astronomy lecture, and instead of paying attention to what her professor is saying about Jupiter's moons, she's zoning out completely and absently drawing little constellations of stars in the margins of her notebook. (Later, when she looks back, she'll see that she actually was drawing constellations, proper constellations.) The professor dismisses the class a few minutes early, and for all of the material that she paid attention to (basically none), Rachel might as well have driven back to Lima last night instead of waiting until after class.

The house is quiet when she finally gets back to Lima. Dad is still at work, and Rachel finds Daddy napping with Rock in his bedroom after she's dumped her things.

She ends up crawling in bed beside him, not even pretending any more than the sight of his nearly gray skin and the gauntness of his features doesn't make her want to cry. His breathing is shallow, even when he's asleep, but she lays there and watches the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. It's comforting that he's still breathing, and the rhythm of that combined with the sound of a purring cat lulls her to sleep.

Diane Sawyer's voice is what wakes her, talking about the latest Republican versus Democrat nonsense in Washington, and Rachel opens her eyes to see Daddy propped up against a mound of pillows. Rock's head is resting on his thigh while he scratches the space between the cat's ears. "There's sleeping beauty," he says, glancing down at his daughter.

She pushes herself up against the pillows so she's a little less horizontal. "How are you feeling?"

He just shakes his head, glancing skyward in a gesture approaching an eye roll.

She hates seeing him like this, obviously in pain. Daddy has always been the strong one in the family, literally and figuratively, and seeing him thin and weak and exhausted is more than a little difficult. But it's not something they talk about as a family, not explicitly. It isn't quite denial, even if it may look that way to someone on the outside. It's just that they all three know the score, and they don't need to discuss it endlessly, to bring up what's right in front of them. He's no longer on chemo, and all of the medications he's taking are meant to ease pain and discomfort, like his persistent nausea.

At this point, Daddy is just waiting to die.

He's refused to go to the hospital, despite the suggestions of his oncologist and the hospice nurse who comes periodically. "I know that as soon as I go to the hospital, I'm going to die," he's said. "I'm not going until I have to."

And as hard as it is to see him like this, she understands and respects his position, so she doesn't bring it up. And every time her phone rings, dread washes over her, because she just _knows_ that this is the call telling her that he's been taken to the hospital.

They lay together watching the news and discussing politics until Dad comes home with dinner, which they all eat together on trays in her fathers' big bed.

* * *

><p>Puck's phone vibrating on his desk is what wakes him, but he's taking a nap with Mia while Sam's in his two-hour history lecture, so he ignores it. It's probably his mom wanting to check in, or maybe Finn wanting to make plans for the weekend; nothing that can't wait until later when he's not dozing with a hot ass redhead in his bed.<p>

But then it starts vibrating again immediately after it stops, which is like the universal _answer your fucking phone_ signal, so he pulls away from Mia, carefully so he doesn't wake her, and grabs the phone, stepping out into the suite and pulling the door shut behind him when he sees Rachel's name on the display.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I need an enormous favor," she says when he answers. Her voice is quiet, but there's an unevenness to it. "I need to get back to Lima, but I don't think I should drive right now, and I can't get a hold of anyone else."

"Yeah, sure. What's going on?" he asks, already knowing and simultaneously dreading the answer.

He hears her let out a shaky breath. "Daddy's been taken to the hospital."

He clenches his teeth to keep himself from cursing, but _fuck_. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

She's sitting on the couch with an overnight bag at her feet when Noah knocks and lets himself into the apartment, her back straight and her fingers laced together while she waits.

"Hey," he says quietly, closing the door behind him. "Are you okay?"

She stands and ignores his question, because no, she isn't okay, and she knows that he knows that. "Would you like something to drink for the drive?" she asks. "I have juice boxes."

He blinks at her. Really? Juice boxes? "Sure."

She steps into the kitchen, reappearing a moment later with an organic apple juice box. "I'm ready whenever you are," she says, handing him the juice and picking up her bag and her purse.

Neither of them speaks as they get into his truck and he starts driving them out of the city, though Rachel does pick up the juice box from where he set it in the cup holder, unwrapping the tiny straw and piercing it through the little foil hole in the top before setting it back in the cup holder. He takes a sip because now he feels like he has to.

She makes a little noise when he turns onto an on-ramp, reaching for her purse and taking out her wallet. She pulls out two twenty dollar bills and holds them out towards him. "Gas money," she explain when he looks at her questioningly.

"Fuck off," he tells her, though his tone is too gentle for the words. She desperately wants him to speak to her like he normally would. "I don't need your money, Rachel."

"I'm not going to let you drive me home without compensating you for fuel. Gas is too expensive."

"Shut up," he tells her seriously. "I'm not taking that."

She lets out a little sigh, tucking the bills into her pocket rather than putting them back in her wallet. She'll hide them somewhere in the truck when he isn't looking, in the glove box or behind the vanity mirror on the passenger side. She refuses to be his charity case just because her father is dying.

God, her father is dying.

It doesn't feel any more real now that it's imminent than it has for the last eleven months.

They're about halfway to Lima when Mia calls. She was still asleep when he left. He didn't see any reason to wake her up just because he needed to go, so he left a note telling her that he needed to drive Rachel to Lima and texted Sam a head's up.

"Is everything okay?" Mia asks when he answers.

"Not really," he answers honestly.

"Is it her dad?"

"Yeah." He forces himself not to look over at Rachel, though he can see her out of the corner of his eye, sitting perfectly straight with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. Mia knows that he and Rachel are friends, and she knows about Andrew's cancer in the abstract sense that Puck's friend's dad is dying, though she doesn't know the details. She doesn't even know that Rachel has two dads.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your afternoon with her," Rachel says quietly after he's hung up.

He shakes his head. "Not a big deal."

They don't really talk for the rest of the trip, so the only sound in the truck is the country radio station that's playing softly. Rachel lets out an audible breath when they hit Lima city limits, and he heads straight towards the hospital without asking. He knows.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asks, looking over at her when he's sitting in the turn lane, waiting for a break in traffic so he can pull into the parking lot as the hospital.

She shakes her head. "Actually, could you do me another favor? Take my bag to my house?" He nods, turning the truck into the lot. "There's a key to the back door on a hook under the deck railing to the right of the steps."

"No problem." He pulls up next to the front doors. "Rach, call me if you need anything. Or my mom," he adds, knowing that she'd do anything for the Berrys.

She nods and thanks him for the ride before she climbs out of his truck, leaving her bag in the floorboard. He watches her walk to the doors and waits until she's inside to pull away.

* * *

><p>Rachel hates hospitals. She's hated them since the summer she was nine years old, when she fell at a Jewish day camp and cut her arm on a piece of glass in the parking lot. She had to get stitches and a tetanus shot, and she always thought the nurse who cleaned the cut was a lot meaner than she needed to be. It's a cliché, which she hates, but it is what it is.<p>

And it's only going to get worse.

Daddy was unconscious when she arrived at the hospital. That's how Dad found him when he came home for lunch; his breathing was labored, and he wouldn't wake up when Dad tried to rouse him. The doctor says that his lungs are shutting down, that he isn't getting adequate oxygen to his brain and, since Daddy made it very clear that he doesn't want to be put on life support for any reason, it's just a matter of time before his body shuts down completely.

So she's just sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a hospital room with all the lights but the fluorescent above the bed turned off, watching her unconscious father struggle to breathe.

It's torture.

Just after midnight, she can't take it any more. And the longer she sits here and thinks about being in the same room when the life finally leaves her daddy's body...she just can't take it, any of it.

Dad doesn't notice when she slips out of the room. He's sitting right up beside the bed, holding Daddy's hand and not saying a word.

She makes her way outside to make the call, respecting the hospital's no cell phone rule. She feels guilty the moment she starts scrolling through her contacts, but in the cost versus benefit of guilt and torture, she'd rather be guilty.

"What do you need?" Noah answers. She can tell that she woke him.

"I really hate to ask, especially since I've woken you up, and I'm su-"

"What do you need?" he interrupts, speaking firmly.

Her voice is smaller than he's ever heard it when she says, "Could you please pick me up from the hospital?"

She's sitting on the curb outside the hospital doors when he pulls up, her arms folded across her chest. It's cool for April, and there's just enough of a breeze to render her lightweight cardigan mostly useless at actually keeping her warm. It's warmer when she climbs into Noah's truck simply because there isn't any air moving. She buckles her seat belt while he pulls away from the curb, then lets out a little sigh. "I couldn't just sit there and wait any more," she tells him softly.

He knows Rachel well enough to know that this is her way of telling him that her daddy hasn't died, but that he is dying. Puck talked to his mom this afternoon about Andrew, and she'd called one of her nurse friends at the hospital who gave her just a little bit of information. (Since confidentiality laws apparently mean fuck all in Lima, Ohio if you know who to talk to.) He knows that Andrew was brought in unconscious and that he isn't expected to wake up.

He wishes there was something he could say or do for Rachel, but he has no idea what to say to her. He's never really lost anyone. His dad's mom died when he was eleven, but they hadn't even been close to that side of the family when his deadbeat dad was still around. He didn't go to her funeral, didn't even really feel sad about this woman he barely knew dying. It's completely different with Rachel's daddy.

He cuts the engine when he pulls into her driveway. The house is dark completely dark; the porch light isn't even on, which he thinks is weird even though he can't be sure that it is. He looks over at Rachel. She's got her hand on the door handle while she pulls her keys out of her purse. "You gonna be okay?" He sees her let out a breath more than he hears it, and she nods. "You want me to stay with you?"

"You don't have to do that, Noah."

"Rach."

"I'd like it if you stayed," she admits. The thought of being all alone right now, walking into that dark, silent house, isn't at all appealing.

The cat is sitting in the hallway when Rachel opens the door, a lot bigger than he was when Puck saw him last, back before school started. Rachel croons something at him, dropping her bag and keys on the table and walking up the stairs, flicking on every light whose switch she passes.

She hates how dark the house is.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and drops it onto the bedside table, turning on the lamp even though the overhead light is already on. God, she's just so _tired_, but she knows she won't be able to sleep, and she can't stand sitting awake in a dark room. She grabs the remote for the television and tosses it to Puck. "Pick something," she orders. "Anything that makes noise."

She grabs the overnight bag that's on her bed - where Puck left it when he was here earlier - and disappears into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

He has no fucking clue what to do with her right now. Like, she's upset, and he gets that. She's just waiting to get this horrible news, the same news she's basically been waiting for for a year, but now it's imminent or whatever. It's fucking her up. That all makes sense. He just doesn't have any idea how to help.

Noah's sitting on her bed, leaned back against the headboard and watching television, when she comes out of the bathroom in a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. She's scrubbed her face clean of the makeup she applied before class this morning, and realized in the process that she hasn't cried once. Given the numbness that seems to be spreading through her chest, that probably makes some kind of sense.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Noah asks. She notices that he's sitting on the right side of the bed, "his" side, if it's possible to have such a thing when you're in someone else's bed.

She walks around the end of the bed so she can sit beside him. "No," she answers honestly.

Puck's at least a little bit relieved, and maybe that makes him a jerk, but he really, truly doesn't know what he'd say if she did want to talk.

She moves around until she's got her legs tucked under the blankets, slides down into the mattress a little. "_Roseanne_," she says, her lips curved just the tiniest bit. "They have an interesting family dynamic." He looks down at her and she shrugs one shoulder. "It's just very different from mine."

He nods, shifting on the bed so he's beneath the blankets beside her, even though he's still wearing jeans. "This show started before we were born," he points out, leaning back into the super-soft pillows she's got on her bed.

She shrugs. "That doesn't make it less interesting. I think it makes it more interesting, actually."

"Makes sense."

* * *

><p>Her phone ringing is what wakes him up, and he squints into the brightness of the room when he opens his eyes, turning his head to watch her talk quietly into the receiver. She only talks for a couple of minutes, then she hangs up the phone and sets it back on her bedside table. Her lips are pressed together when she looks at him.<p>

"He's gone," she whispers.

"Rach-"

"Don't say anything," she insists, her eyes wide. "Please."

"Okay." She relaxes a little, so he reaches out, wraps his hand around her upper arm and tugs a little so she's lying right up next to him, pressed against his side while he's got both arms wrapped around her. Holding her can't be the wrong thing to do right now, especially when she isn't pushing him away.

He keeps waiting for her breathing to get all fucked up when she starts crying, but that doesn't happen. Instead, her breathing evens out, and he realizes that it's because she's fallen asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Rachel has never really understood the concept of taking food to the relatives of the deceased, but it seems that that's the way it goes. It's just that it feels so _wasteful_. She's forced to start storing things in the refrigerator in the garage when the one in the kitchen is full. Scalloped potatoes, watergate salad, three different noodle kugels, cheesecake, zucchini bread, and even an entire brisket from Mrs. Sherman at temple, a woman who doesn't know the meaning of moderation if her own girth is any indication. And while Rachel knows that the majority of those from temple who are bringing food are completely aware of her veganism, she also knows that that there's this strange resistance to her dietary choices, and, as a result, very little of the food being brought to the house is anything that she would ever consider eating.

Of course, her choosing not to eat the things that aren't vegan isn't much different than her inability to eat much of anything that is, and Dad doesn't have much of an appetite either.

Daddy made all of the arrangements for what was supposed to happen after his death, which she supposes is the only benefit of dying the way that he did; he had the time and the ability to ensure that things happen the way he wanted them to. He's being cremated, so there won't be a traditional funeral, though they are holding a wake at the house.

The only positive outcome Rachel can see, as the day approaches, is that maybe the guests will get rid of some of this food.

* * *

><p>Puck agrees to go to Andrew's wake with his mom because Abby's at school, and even though he'd originally planned to go with Finn and Santana (Sam has an exam he can't get out of, so he isn't coming), he's not going to make his mom go alone. The woman badgers him about not wearing a tie, so he takes the food containers she's carrying to shut her up.<p>

It doesn't work, but whatever.

The Berrys' street is totally lined with cars, which doesn't surprise Puck at all. There are people in Lima who will never accept a gay couple, and Rachel wasn't always popular with kids her own age, but for the most part, the Berrys are pretty well-liked. And it always seems like when someone who isn't a senior citizen dies, people really come out of the woodwork to talk about how it's so sad and such a tragedy.

His mom goes to talk to her group of gossipy ladies from temple as soon as they walk through the door, and Puck heads back to the kitchen to drop the stuff he's carrying. Rachel's standing there talking to Santana, and Finn's with them, a plate in his hand while he shovels food into his mouth. She's wearing a navy blue dress that he thinks is silk, and her hair is pulled back away from her face so he can really see how tired she looks.

"Oh, good," she says when she sees him. "More food." She glances pointedly around the kitchen, where he can see that both the big center island and the table are covered with half-full dishes of basically anything you could ever want, plus plenty of stuff he'd never touch.

"Yeah, well, you know my mom," he offers, pushing some things aside so he can set down the containers he's carrying. "It's some lentil thing and blueberry lemon muffins. Mom found the recipes on some vegan website," he tells her, partially because he thinks she'd want to know, but mostly because his mom told him to make sure he mentioned it.

Rachel's face sort of falls, but then she says, "That's so nice," and he's kind of confused. "Most people haven't even bothered." She looks around the kitchen again, her eyes lingering on Finn for a moment. "Not that most of it will get eaten anyhow."

Noah doesn't say anything, and Rachel supposes that makes sense. What exactly is he supposed to say to that? But honestly, Marlene Puckerman is just about her favorite person in the world right now.

"I'm going to go thank your mother," she says after a moment. "Eat something. Please."

She needs to stop hiding in the kitchen anyhow. Sure, people have been in and out, dropping off food (food she's already planning on taking to the women's shelter) and making plates to eat in the dining room, but she's the hostess and she needs to take care of her guests.

Whose bright idea was it to make the family of the deceased host everyone they know anyway?

She finds Marlene talking to Mrs. Sherman, and even though it's impolite, she injects herself into their conversation. "Thank you so much for making the effort to prepare vegan recipes for me," she says, keeping her voice sweet. "It's so thoughtful, and it seems that most people can't be bothered."

Mrs. Sherman excuses herself with a huff, and Rachel manages to hold in her eye roll until the woman is out of sight. "I think I hate her."

Marlene lets out a little snort of laughter. "She's a shrew."

She almost manages a smile. "I really do appreciate it though. The food," she clarifies. "It means a lot that you would make the effort for me."

"Of course, sweetheart." Marlene looks at her for a moment, her gaze sweeping over Rachel's body. "How are you?"

Rachel considers the question carefully, because she thinks it's the first time she's been asked today by someone who really meant it, save Santana. (Who accepted it easily when Rachel told her that she didn't know how she was.) Everyone else asked it as a cursory question, something they had to say before they got to whatever it was they wanted to say, whatever vapid, useless thing they wanted to tell her about her father. It kills her how everyone wants to talk about him like they knew him better than she did; he's her _daddy_.

"I'm fine, I guess," she says after a long moment, shrugging one shoulder. "I've never been this sad, but I'm not about to fall to pieces, so I suppose that means I'm fine."

"You let me know if you need anything, do you hear me?" Rachel nods, finds herself being pulled into a tight hug. "I mean that, Rachel."

"I know," she tells Marlene seriously when she pulls away. She really does, and not just because the woman has told her that repeatedly. She can feel how much Marlene means it when she says it, and she genuinely appreciates it, even if she has no intention of actually asking the woman for anything.

The house is crowded with people until nearly six p.m., and Rachel locks the door behind the last one, flicking off the porch light when she does. Honestly, it's more symbolic than anything, given that the sun hasn't set yet, but it makes her feel better. Turning off the porch light is the subtle _'stay away'_ signal that she just needs to put out into the world right now.

Mrs. Simon from next door helped Nana cleaning up the kitchen when guests started trickling out, and Rachel makes a mental note to send her a thank you when she walks into the nearly-spotless room. Nana is loading the dishwasher, and Dad is sitting at the table, picking at a plate of food that Nana has obviously made for him, going by the size of it.

"You should eat something, angelfish," he tells her when she sits across from him.

She shakes her head. "I'm not hungry." She hasn't eaten since breakfast, but the thought of eating anything makes her stomach roll. The sheer volume of food that has passed through her home - that is still in her home - makes her queasy. Besides that, she hasn't had much of an appetite all weekend.

"Nonsense," Nana says. "At least have one of those muffins Mrs. Puckerman brought."

"Fine," she agrees, not wanting to fight with her grandmother. And she keeps her mouth shut when, minutes later, the plate set in front of her has two muffins, warmed and split and smeared with a touch of margarine, and is accompanied by a glass of soy milk. "I think I'll just take this upstairs and eat it while I change."

Nana sets her hands on her hips. "I expect and empty plate and glass, Rachel Barbra."

"Yes, ma'am," she agrees with a little smile.

She leaves the plate on her dresser, but carries the glass into the bathroom and pours the contents down the drain immediately because she knows the soy milk won't sit well on her empty stomach, however well-meaning her grandmother is. She changes into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt, and she manages to eat half of one of the muffins before it starts making her feel queasy.

Because she hates to make her father or her grandmother worry even under the best of circumstances, and this certainly isn't that, she pushes open her window and crumbles the rest of the muffins onto the shingles of the porch roof for the birds so the food doesn't go completely to waste.

She falls asleep just after seven, curled up on the bed with Rock the way she has all weekend, an episode of _Gossip Girl_ playing and the lights still burning.

* * *

><p>He's sitting in the dining hall with Mia one night, eating way more french fries than he probably should because that salsbury steak shit they're serving is terrible. They're talking about their plans for the four-day Easter weekend, and while Puck isn't doing anything, Mia's family apparently takes the holiday pretty seriously. She has a bunch of little cousins, so they have dinner and an Easter egg hunt that actually sounds like a lot of fun, even if it's not a holiday Puck gives a fuck about.<p>

"My grandma always uses it as an opportunity to ask about my love life," she says, reaching over the steal a fry from his plate. He raises an eyebrow. "What do you think I should tell her this year?"

They've never talked about this thing they're doing, with the exception of once way back at the beginning, when she told him that she wasn't going to fuck him if he was planning on fucking around with other girls. Mia isn't a girl who plays games, so that's not what this is. She's just asking, which is actually pretty cute.

He shrugs one shoulder and takes a drink of his Coke. "You could tell her about your hot ass boyfriend, but since it's Easter and whatever, you should probably leave out the fact that he thinks all the Jesus stuff is mostly bullshit."

Mia laughs because she isn't religious, not really (they've talked about it), and besides that, she's used to him. "Yeah, I'll be sure to leave that part out."

And just like that, Puck ends up with a girlfriend his freshman year of college, and even though he really never wanted it, he's not mad that he has it now.

* * *

><p>It turns out that if you want to transfer to a school in New York, the city that everyone wants to be in, you need to start getting yourself together almost a year in advance. At least, that's what Rachel learns when she starts making calls to NYU towards the end of April, once she's back at OSU and back in the swing of things, so to speak. In any case, she's attending all of her classes and completing her assignments, and she's back in dance classes even if she feels like she's simply going through the motions.<p>

The woman on the phone from NYU - who is incredibly sweet, even if she is giving Rachel terrible news - tells her that they've already met their transfer numbers for fall semester, but Rachel can get herself on a wait list on the off chance that a slot opens for her.

Of course, rather than just saying yes, Rachel asks what the chances of that actually happening are, and she gets precisely the answer that she's expecting: slim to none.

Rachel Berry has always been an optimist, has always been the one looking for the silver lining in every dark cloud because she truly believes that it's always there. Her father's death, no matter how hard it was on her, had a few different good things attached, the end of his pain being first and foremost in her mind. And yes, selfishly, she was aware that his death meant that she would get a chance to go to New York the way she was always supposed to.

Except now she's finding out that that isn't going to happen for at least another year, not if she actually wants to attend school, and she really isn't willing to move across the country without a solid foundation to build on once she gets there. Sure, she could throw herself into dance classes and singing lessons and going on auditions, but she thinks the life experience of college is important, especially for a girl like her, a girl who grew up in a small town and doesn't have a lot of experience to draw from to begin with.

It's the second time her dream has been dashed in a year, and it's like the universe is trying to take away her optimism in chips and chunks.

* * *

><p>Rachel decides to spend summer in Lima even though she's keeping her apartment in Columbus for as long as she's going to school there. It sounds like most everyone is going to be home for the summer anyhow. Kurt is staying in New York (and she's stopped caring about him completely, which makes her a little sad), and she has no idea what's going on with Mercedes or Artie, but she thinks nearly everyone else she cares about is going to be back.<p>

It's strange, living in the house with just Dad, and it only takes her a couple of days to decide this. It's quieter, and she'd never realized that Daddy was usually the one choosing the music they were listening to, that Daddy was the one who talked across the house instead of going to the room the the person he was talking to was in. The difference is so stark that the house might as well be silent.

Dad is quieter than he used to be anyhow, and he's definitely lost weight. (Not that she has any room to talk; one of the girls in dance class pointed out that Rachel has dropped more than a few pounds herself.) She's only ever known her father as a man in love, a man who has always been happy and optimistic like Rachel herself. His father died before Rachel was born, and other than acquaintances from temple and such, she's never seen grieve for anyone.

She walks into the kitchen on her first Saturday morning home, thinking about a glass of orange juice but trying to talk herself into brewing green tea instead. Dad is standing at the counter, measuring coffee grounds into the coffee maker. "Good morning," she greets, forcing herself to pick up the kettle from the stove and carry it to the sink. Orange juice is delicious and not exactly bad for her, but it's also full of sugar and calories she doesn't need. The green tea is all good things.

"Morning, angelfish."

She's sitting at the table, glancing at the front page of the newspaper while she waits for her tea to finish steeping when Dad takes his usual seat. She smiles, handing him the paper and pulling out the tea bag, setting it in the saucer before lifting the cup and blowing on the surface of the tea.

"You know how things always seem to taste better when someone else makes them?" he asks suddenly. She nods. Living alone this past year and preparing all of her own meals really drove that point home. He offers her a wry little smile. "Your daddy always made the coffee. Every morning of the twenty-five years we were together."

It takes her sleepy mind a moment to process, but when she realizes what he's saying, she thinks she can actually feel her heart break a little in her chest.

* * *

><p>Now that school's out and the guy isn't obsessing over every single lecture and assignment and exam, Sam's back to being himself again, which Puck fucking loves. Finn's home, and Chang's spending the summer in Lima even though Puck can't figure out why the fuck he'd leave New York to come back to this place. But basically, the four of them fuck around all the time, and it's kind of like last summer, except better because their parents have all relaxed after a year of them being away all the time.<p>

Santana's parents go on a cruise at the beginning of July. They're going to be gone for two weeks, and Dr. Lopez isn't stupid, because he makes a point of telling Santana that anything that comes up broken or missing is going to be her responsibility to replace. So, yeah, she throws a party.

Puck's sitting on the edge of the pool with his feet dangling in the water, talking to Brittany and Chang when Rachel comes out of the back of the house with Santana. She's wearing a denim skirt with her black bikini top, carrying one of those fruity, chick beer things, Bacardi or Smirnoff or whatever.

"How is she?" Mike asks when he follows Puck's gaze. She leaned against the deck railing, laughing at something Santana just said.

"She look sad," Brittany offers before Puck can say anything. He and Mike both blink at her, and she shrugs one shoulder. "Her eyes aren't smiling even though her mouth is."

Puck doesn't really know what to say to that, except he knows that Britt's right. He lets it sink in for a minute, then leans over to kiss her temple before tugging her with him when he slides down into the water.

* * *

><p>Santana and Rachel go shopping one afternoon. It's hot outside, so they're taking advantage of the mall's air conditioning, and Rachel wants a few more pairs of jeans. See, walking around in skirts and tights all winter makes sense when you're in high school and spend your entire day in the same building, but it's far less practical when you're walking around campus all day, something she learned pretty quickly last year. She updated her wardrobe accordingly, but you can never have too much denim, and you can never have too many summer dresses, which are everywhere right now, too. She figures she'll get a couple of dresses, a pair of dark, skinny jeans that are missing from her wardrobe, and maybe a new pair of cute little gladiator sandals if she can find them.<p>

But after nearly two hours and six stores, the only things Rachel has are a new bra and panty set that was on sale at Victoria's Secret and one red cotton sun dress Santana insisted looked lovely (_'hot'_) against her skin. She's flicked through what feels like hundreds of racks of dresses and tried on at least a dozen pairs of jeans, all to no avail. It's frustrating.

She and Santana are sharing a fitting room at Macy's when she pulls on what must be her fourteenth pair of jeans that don't fit properly. She looks over at Santana, who is looking at her backside in the mirror, admiring the fit of the black slacks she's trying on and talking about where they should go next, and Rachel feels her body go hot all over. She unbuttons the jeans she's wearing with shaking fingers, pushes them down off her hips, and nearly falls over in her hurry to step out of the legs. She kicks the fabric away from her feet and snatches her skirt from the bench along the wall.

Santana looks at her strangely when she pulls the skirt up over her hips. "What's your damage, Rachel?"

She lowers her head to watch her hands as she buttons the skirt, and she's completely startled when a tear slips down her cheek, falling down to splash on top of her bare foot. "I'm done shopping," she manages, swallowing back the lump that's rising in her throat.

"Are you crying?" Santana asks incredulously.

"I'm fine." The words come out on a sob, and she knows it completely negates their meaning.

Santana mutters something under her breath when Rachel sobs a second time, shoves the pile of clothes they brought into the dressing room to the floor, and pushes her to sit on the bench. "They're just fucking jeans, Rachel."

"It's not about jeans," she manages, even though now she's crying in earnest, the sobs shaking her body.

"Then what the hell?"

Rachel tries to answer, but the words stick in her throat. Her hands are still shaking, and the tiny room feels too small and too hot. She can feel the tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggles to say something.

Santana bites out a curse, puts her hand on the back of Rachel's head, and pushes it down between her knees, then starts moving around the little room, changing back into her own clothes.

Rachel knows exactly what's going on here, with her head between her knees and a cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck. She's watched enough television shows and had enough therapy to recognize an anxiety attack when she sees one. She's completely mortified that she's behaving like this in a dressing room in Macy's, of all places, with Santana Lopez, of all people.

She vaguely registers that Santana's on the phone with someone, telling whoever it is to meet them at the flagship's entrance, then Santana is wrapping her hand around Rachel's upper arm, squeezing almost too tight as she pulls her to her feet and pushes her out the dressing room door. Santana leads her through the store with an iron grip, not stopping until they're outside in the humid air and Rachel is sitting on a concrete bench next to one of those disgusting stone ash trays, overflowing with cigarette butts and chewed gum.

Santana puts both her hands on Rachel's shoulders and faces her. "What's wrong?" she asks firmly.

Rachel sucks in a deep, shaky breath. "I think-" She draws in another gasping breath and reminds herself that she can, in fact, breathe. "I think it's some sort of panic attack."

"Well, no shit," Santana says, rolling her eyes, but there isn't any animosity there.

Rachel's surprised when Finn's truck pulls up to the curb, but even though the sobs have diminished, she's still crying and breathing strangely, so she doesn't say anything. Santana pushes her into the truck, and Finn regards her tear-stained face with wide eyes. "I don't know what to do with that," Santana tells him flatly.

"Go home, Santana." The girl drops Rachel's purse and shopping bags at her feet in the floorboard, then slams the door closed. Finn lets out a sigh, leans over, and pulls open the glove box to take out a handful of McDonald's napkins. "Put on your seat belt, Rachel," he tells her quietly, setting the napkins in her lap.

She concentrates on regulating her breathing while he drives - in for eight counts, out for eight counts - and does her best to keep her mind blank, dabbing at her cheeks with the napkins.

She lets Finn lead her into her house, which is empty and cool and quiet, and up the stairs to her bedroom, where he pushes her to sit on the bench at the end of her bed. He looks at her for a second, then lets out a sigh. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

She takes a deep breath. "The jeans didn't fit, and I just lost it."

"You're not crying about a pair of jeans, Rachel," he says, just the tiniest hint of uncertainly in his voice, like maybe it _is_ about the jeans and he's just missing something.

"No."

"Then what is it?"

She shakes her head a little, brings her hands up to wipe just beneath her eyes with the pads of her fingers, and exhales slowly. "I haven't cried since my dad died," she whispers, not quite meeting his eyes. "I think it all came out at once, over something really stupid."

"The jeans." She can see the understanding light up his eyes.

"The jeans," she agrees with a little laugh.

He takes her hand in his, runs his fingertips up the inside of her forearm the way he always used to. "Why haven't you cried?" he asks gently.

She doesn't have to think about the question. She's been asking herself for more than a year. With everything that she watched Daddy go through, the only time that she actually cried for him was the very first night she found out that he was sick, when she was with Noah. And she's cried about other things, which maybe makes it all the more absurd. She's shed tears for New York and what might have been. She cried when she saw a baby panda that was orphaned at some Chinese zoo on _Good Morning America_. Just last week, she cried over an old rerun of _One Tree Hill_ on SoapNet. But she knows exactly why she's been keeping it in when it comes to Daddy.

"I feel like I have to be strong about it," she tells him quietly. "It's just me and Dad, and I can tell how depressed he is, how much he misses Daddy. I don't know what happens if I let myself fall apart, too. If I can't take care of him," she explains.

"Rach, your dad can take care of himself," he tells her gently. "And he'll have to when you go back to school."

"I know." And she does, really, but still, it doesn't make her feel better about any of it.

Finn squeezes her hand until she looks up at him. "He's always going to be sad about it. Mom and Burt have been married for almost three years, and my dad was gone for a long time before that, and she still gets sad about him sometimes."

"That's not really making me feel better," she admits.

He shrugs. "It's not really supposed to. It is what it is, and there's not anything you can do about it."

She nods after a moment and lets out a breath. "Thank you," she finally says. "For coming and getting me."

"Santana doesn't really do tears, I guess."

Rachel can't really blame Santana for not knowing what to do with her, considering that she basically lost her mind when she was half-naked in a department store fitting room.

"Do you want to stay and find something completely meaningless to watch on television?"

He's laughing when he nods, and he ends up spending the entire evening at the house, watching the Three Stooges on DVD and having dinner with her and her dad. It's so comfortable, just like it was when they were together in high school, before they let their potential futures come between them and push them apart. She realizes, listening to him chuckle at something Dad said, just how much she's missed him over the last year or so, and even if what happened this afternoon was overwrought, she's glad that this is how she ended the day.

* * *

><p>Brittany throws herself a going away party the weekend before she leaves for Chicago, and it's kind of weird. All the old glee club members are there, the ones who graduated last year like Brittany was supposed to, but so are a bunch of the younger kids they left behind, plus all the Cheerios and whoever else the girl spent the last year hanging out with since Santana and Quinn and Artie were all gone.<p>

Puck's standing in the back yard with Santana, talking about their moving plans (because they're living together this year, which will either end up being awesome or the worst idea they've ever had) and drinking a beer when Rachel and Finn come walking out the back door holding hands.

"When did that happen?" he asks Santana, nodding at the two of them.

She turns and watches Finn open some Smirnoff chick beer thing for Rachel, grinning when he hands it to her. "I don't know. Probably after that day at the mall."

"What day at the mall?"

"She had like, a nervous breakdown in the middle of a dressing room in Macy's." She pauses to take a drink of her beer. "I didn't know what the fuck to do, so I called Finn to come and take care of her."

"Why did you call Finn?" he asks. Puck's always been Santana's go-to guy for shit that she couldn't handle, from guys who couldn't take a hint and fuck off to when she was trying to decide if she was just into girls or if she was into guys too, back in high school. It's just weird that she wouldn't call him for this, too.

She shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. "I guess I got in the habit of calling him when we were fucking around." Her face is completely blank, and he knows exactly what that means: There's more to what she's saying, but there's no way she's going to tell him anything else.

He watches Rachel stand up on her tiptoes to whisper something in Finn's ear, and they're both laughing when she pulls away. "Five months."

Santana shakes her head. "Three."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I want to take just a second to thank everyone who has been reading this story, particularly those of you leaving me such lovely reviews. The feedback I've been getting on this story, which was such a labor of love for me, means the world. I wish I could respond to each, but disabled PMs and unsigned reviews prevent that. I'd love to hear what everyone is thinking.

Also, I assure you that the appearance of Finn doesn't change the fact that this is a Puck/Rachel story any more than the appearance of Mia did. Please, just trust me.


	7. Chapter 7

Rachel makes a resolution on the night that she moves back into her Columbus apartment.

This year, she's going to do college right.

See, last year didn't feel like any version of college she's familiar with. It definitely wasn't like her own fantasy of college, for obvious reasons, but it wasn't like the college experience she's seen in movies or on television or read about in book either, and she thinks that at least some portion of those stories must be accurate. She isn't expecting to be Elle Woods (near-travesty of a Broadway musical notwithstanding), nor does she want to recreate _Animal House_ or any other iconic college experience, but she does want some piece of that for herself.

She thinks that being back with Finn can only help with this. (And the parallels between Finn bringing her into the college social scene the same way he did back in high school, in a lot of ways, don't go unnoticed by Rachel.) Being with Finn is just so comfortable, so easy. She never really stopped loving him. They broke up because they started drifting apart and they were going in different directions, not because they didn't love each other, and now that she's going to be in Columbus for another year, well...

It isn't the first time she's walked into a relationship with Finn knowing that it probably has an expiration date, but this time, she isn't going to let that nag away at the back of her mind like she did when she was seventeen. She's just going to let herself have fun and be in love.

And if she's being inappropriately honest? After a year of not even kissing anyone, it's nice to be having sex again on a regular basis.

This year, she isn't going back to Lima every weekend, so she intends to be at home football games, to spend more time with her friends, and she may even entertain the idea of making some new friends even if she is leaving in a year. (Not every friendship has to be lifelong, something else she's learned in the last year.)

Of course, she's still Rachel Berry, and even though Noah and Santana invite her over to the house they're sharing the night before classes start, she declines. She has night-before-the-first-day-of-school routine (ritual, if you will) that she needs to go through, and even her "more fun" resolution isn't going to keep her from organizing her new school supplies or taking her traditional bubble bath.

She's sitting in a seat in the middle of the lecture hall for her pop culture course on Monday morning, writing the date and the course title at the top of the first page in her new notebook and waiting for the professor to begin class when Noah lowers himself into the seat next to hers. "Hey," he greets simply.

She blinks at him. "I didn't know you were taking pop culture," she says, which is silly considering that she doesn't know what he's taking at all. She can't actually remember the last time she had a real conversation with Noah.

He smirks. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other." It's a Monday, Wednesday, Friday class, his first each of those days, and really, he can think of a lot worse people to sit next to for an hour first thing in the morning.

He takes a second to look her up and down, to take in the little red sun dress she's wearing with a white cardigan that has sleeves that stop just below her elbows, the way she's got her bangs pinned back away from her face. "What else do you have today?"

"Public speaking," she answers, grinning when he snorts out a laugh. "I know, it's ridiculous given my experience with speaking in front of groups," she notices that he rolls his eyes, "but it's a requirement, and it's just a Monday, Wednesday class."

He starts to say something else, but Rachel shushes him when the professor starts talking down at the front of the lecture hall.

They walk out of the lecture hall together after she spent the whole hour nudging him with her elbow while he doodled random shit in the margins of his syllabus. (Whatever, he doesn't need to keep his shit pristine and perfect like she does.) Campus has that super-busy feeling that it always has at the beginning of the semester, and this year, Puck notices just how young all the freshmen look, how easy it is to pick them out from everyone else.

The house he's sharing with Santana is about four blocks from Rachel's place, so they cross campus together, and when they get to the place where they have to split up and go their separate ways, Rachel stands on her toes in her flat little sandals and wraps her arms around his neck ."I'm glad we have a class together this semester," she murmurs against his shoulder. She pulls away and looks up at him with excited eyes. "We should meet up and walk together!"

He looks at her skeptically. "I don't show up for classes fifteen minutes early, Rachel."

She rolls her eyes, but she's not surprised that he says it. "I only do the first day. I'm not expecting you get up early."

Honestly, a ten o'clock class _is_ early, especially on Fridays since he usually spends Thursday nights drinking. "We'll try it on Wednesday, all right?"

She claps her hands together quickly, just barely making noise, and smiles. "Excellent. Have a good day, Noah!"

He's shaking his head when she walks away from him, because this Rachel? Totally different than the one he got used to seeing last year, and he's not entirely sure what to make of it.

* * *

><p>Rachel doesn't get to spend as much time with Finn as she'd like, but she finds that it doesn't <em>bother<em> her the way it would have two years ago. Football is an enormous demand on his time (though he's still third-string this year) between practices and weight training and study sessions and travel to away games. And since she has her own classes and things going on, she doesn't really see that much of him.

She doesn't hate it though. She still has her Monday night _House_ viewing with Santana, which they usually do at Rachel's place. (After the time Noah decided he was going to watch with them and spent the entire show asking questions and talking about how bad ass House is, they decided to avoid watching with him again.) She makes a point of doing something social every weekend, whether it's going to a party or a club with Santana or hanging out and playing silly video games in Sam's dorm room while he's on duty. She goes to each home football game, once with Santana (who she only convinces with a bottle of Hot Damn purchased with her fake ID) and once with Sam and some of his new RA friends (who are all lovely and far less stuffy than she would have expected of resident advisers).

Finn comes over after practice on a Wednesday night, carrying a frozen vegan pizza and a backpack full of books. It's been over a week since she's seen him, and it'll be at least another week before she sees him again with his away game this weekend and her economics exam next Tuesday, but they try to make an effort to spend time together when they can.

They're sitting on opposite ends of the couch after dinner, facing one another with their legs tangled together while they each focus on their own reading assignments. At least, they're pretending to focus on their reading assignments. It's hard to pay attention to an analysis of World War II propaganda when Finn's hand is on the top of her foot, his fingertips tracing lightly over the inside of her ankle bone.

He's grinning when she looks over the top of her textbook at him. "Stop it," she orders without conviction, twitching her foot a little in an imitation of a girl trying to make a boy stop touching her.

"What?" he asks, feigning innocence and failing miserably when the corners of his mouth quirk up.

Rachel's shaking her head when she sets her book aside and moves so she's straddling his thighs. "You're supposed to be studying," she reminds him, taking his book and putting it on the floor.

He shrugs, setting his hands on her hips and sliding them upwards, just beneath the sweater she's wearing. "It's kind of boring."

She quirks an eyebrows, then says a mental '_screw it.'_ She hasn't seen him in over a week, and now he's right in front of her, right between her legs, and she can't for the life of her figure out why they're talking.

So she leans forward to kiss him, threading her fingers into his hair to keep him close while she has him.

* * *

><p>Living with Santana is kind of a trip, honestly. It's not like he can forget that she's a girl, what with the boobs and the tampons under the bathroom sink and the way that she sometimes takes fucking forever to get ready to go out places. But then she does something a dude would do, like open a beer at eleven on a Saturday morning just because or bring home some hot-as-fuck blonde chick from a party and have loud ass sex, and he doesn't know what to think.<p>

Sometimes, Puck actually wonders if it's easier with Santana than it would be with another girl because the sexual tension stuff is a non-issue. They haven't slept together in years, but there isn't any of that 'forbidden fruit' bullshit going on - if they wanted to fuck, they'd fuck - and they don't have to wonder what the other person is like in bed because they already know. And yeah, she's still hot, and he's going to look, especially when she walks around the house without a bra on or whatever, but he's not gonna do anything about it.

He knows that Mia was worried about the whole thing when he told her, but he and Santana were already planning to live together when he and Mia made things official, and they'd been talking about since Sam decided to be an RA.. And now his girlfriend knows for sure that there isn't anything going on with Santana, having seen the way they act with one another. It's kind of awesome that the girl isn't all crazy jealous.

He's never been a relationship with anyone as long as he has with Mia, and that includes all the time that he and Quinn were whatever they were after the whole baby secret thing came out. And he's not like, thinking about marrying the girl (fuck, he's not even twenty yet), but he isn't looking for an out either. He likes being with her, plain and simple.

She takes school really fucking seriously, and it's the only thing they really fight about, the fact that she thinks he's not working as hard as he should or that she can't believe that he hasn't declared a major yet or that he's trying to distract her from what she's doing. And honestly, she's a creative writing major, so he's not sure why she's up on her high horse about shit. What the fuck is she going to do with an English degree? Poets and novelists aren't exactly rolling in it, except for that lady who wrote _Harry Potter_, so fuck that. But whatever. It means she basically freezes him out during midterms. Like, he doesn't see her at all for a week and a half, legit, and her text messages get all bitchy.

(Santana mentions something about writers being temperamental when he's complaining about it one morning. He tells her to fuck off, and she throws a wet dish towel in his face and tells him to go jerk off, _'because you're a real bastard when you're horny.'_)

He's sitting on the couch fucking around on his guitar on Friday afternoon when Mia lets herself into the house. He knows her last midterm was due today (some short nonfiction story she's been working on since August), so he's not surprised when she comes in. He is, however, a little pissed off that she's been such a raging bitch all week, so he doesn't put the guitar aside like he normally would. Instead, he just keeps playing, transitioning into a little melody he wrote forever ago that he still doesn't have lyrics for, watching as Mia drops her keys on the coffee table and lowers herself onto the couch beside him.

"Hi." Puck just raises his eyebrows and watches her tilt her head at him. "Puck," she sighs.

"You kinda suck," he tells her evenly.

She shakes her head, her eyes on his hands as he plays. "School is important."

"That doesn't mean you have to be a bitch about it," he points out. Maybe telling his girlfriend she's being a bitch isn't the smartest thing, but he's not going to hold back when it's the truth.

She just watches him for a moment, then bites her lip. "Didn't you miss me?"

He snorts out a laugh. "Babe."

He lets her take the guitar from his hands when she wraps her fingers around the neck, watching as she sets it gently on the coffee table, on top of a scattering of issues of _In Style_ and _Playboy_ and _Maxim_ (all Santana's subscriptions). She stands, taking his hands in hers and pulling him to his feet. "I missed you," she tells him quietly, walking backwards towards the hallway. "I could show you how much, if you'll let me."

Puck just smirks and lets her lead him into his bedroom, because yes, he would like to see how much she missed him, especially since he's pretty sure that it's going to involve her getting on her knees before she gets naked.

* * *

><p>Finn gets just as excited about OSU's homecoming football game as he did for McKinley's homecoming back in high school, and Rachel thinks it's sort of sweet, especially considering that he isn't the star quarterback here. (Truth is, Finn probably won't ever be a starting quarterback at OSU, which she knows bothers him more than he lets on.) Walking around campus the week before the game, Rachel starts to realize what a big deal everyone else seems to think this is, and she wonders idly how she managed to miss all of the hoopla last year. There are campaign posters and banners everywhere for people running for the royal court (she has high school flashbacks of the Quinn Fabray variety, and she figures that Quinn will probably be running for homecoming queen with the endorsement of whatever sorority she's joined in Kentucky in two years), fliers promoting the parade before the game, and countless mentions of alumni reunions of every organization imaginable.<p>

Sam has committed to being involved with his residence hall's parade float, and Santana refuses to buy into any of the hype whatsoever, so Rachel ends up convincing Noah and Mia to come with her to the game. In true Rachel Berry fashion, she makes an event of it, dressing in school colors and putting a temporary tattoo on her cheek, and in an effort to keep Noah and Mia as happy as possible during the game, she makes an enormous thermos of hot chocolate spiked with peppermint schnapps.

She gets caught up in the game, which is easy to do in a huge crowd of people when her team is winning, even if Finn isn't playing, but it's not at all a surprise that the halftime show is her favorite part. Marching band is its own particular animal, and while it's not something she would ever want to do - the uniforms are always hideous - she likes watching the shapes they make and the way the color guard weaves through the rest of the band.

Rachel excuses herself to the restroom after the band finishes their performance, which turns out to be a mistake. The line at the ladies' room feels endless, and the third quarter is half-finished when she makes it back to her seat, weaving through the crowd until she's with Noah again. "Where's Mia?" she asks when she realizes that he's alone.

He smirks lazily. "Her roommate texted her to tell her that she clogged the toilet and flooded their bathroom," he tells her a little gleefully. She knows that he drank the majority of the hot chocolate, and she wonders if he's maybe just a little bit tipsy.

"That's disgusting."

"I think it's hilarious," he counters. "Her roommate's a bitch."

"But now Mia has to deal with the mess, too," she points out.

He shrugs. "Sometimes Mia's a bitch, too." Like, he likes her - he might love her, though he's never told her that - but he doesn't know a woman who isn't a bitch sometimes. Fuck, he lives with Santana Lopez. He knocked up Quinn Fabray. His mother is Marlene Puckerman, for fuck's sake. He _knows_ bitchy women.

She looks at him disapprovingly. "That isn't a very nice thing to say about your girlfriend."

The Buckeyes' defense chooses that moment to sack the opposing team's quarterback, which brings Noah to his feet with a cheer, effectively ending their conversation.

Puck and Rachel leave right after the Buckeyes win, not even bothering to go down to the field to meet up with Finn. He has some team bullshit that he's doing all evening, and Puck's actually sort of surprised that Rachel isn't throwing a fit about not getting to hang out with Finn. Back in high school, she always whined about away games and how they meant that she wouldn't get to see him again until Monday because she had dance class or whatever the hell. But like, Finn's busy all the fucking time now, and he hasn't heard Rachel bitch about not seeing her boyfriend once since they came back to school.

It's not the first time he's thought about this. He sees Rachel quite a bit, and not just in the class they have together. She hangs out with Santana at their place sometimes, and they all go out together pretty frequently. The thing is, he pays more attention than people think, and he figures that as long as Rachel's with Finn, she thinks she's somehow proving to everyone that everything is back to normal since her dad died. But he knows better than that, too, because he knows that she still calls his mom sometimes just to talk, which started after Andrew died, and he's seen the way she shuts down a little when one of their friends says something about their dad.

He waits until they get to a part of campus that isn't totally flooded with people, so he can walk beside her and talk without yelling. It reminds him, a little, of that game they went to last year, when he walked her back to her place because she was drunk. "So, why aren't you all bent out of shape about not getting to hang out with Finn?" he asks.

She looks up at him strangely because it's a strange question. "What do you mean?"

"The Rachel I used to know would have thrown a fit about a boyfriend she never got to hang out with," he answers with a shrug, because it's really hitting him how little time they have to spend together. And like, she probably sees Santana more than she sees Finn, because they hang out a couple of times a week.

"How well did you ever really know me, Noah?" she asks, glaring up at him. Her relationship with Finn isn't any of his business.

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Rachel. Get all defensive. That's gonna convince me."

"Convince you of what, exactly?" she demands meanly. She has no idea where this conversation even came from, but it's making her mad, and he isn't drunk enough to use alcohol as an excuse. (Not that she'd accept alcohol as an excuse.)

Puck grins, because he obviously flipped her bitch switch, and there's something he likes about pissing Rachel off. "That you're with Finn for more than sex and convenience." Because in the last five minutes, he's decided that that's what this has to be for her; it keeps her from being 'alone' and horny, but doesn't require her to really do anything else.

"You're vulgar and an ass," she snaps, and she hates herself for letting him get a rise out of her, especially over something so stupid.

"Not a revelation," he reminds her with a smirk, and fuck, watching her get all defensive is kind of awesome.

"You need to learn to keep your mouth shut." She rolls her eyes when she looks up and sees the little grin on his lips. "God, just go home, Puck."

He doesn't get a chance to say anything else, because she stalks away as fast as her little legs will take her, and since they're pretty close to the place where they'd have to separate to go to their respective homes, he doesn't bother following her. Plus, now that she's mad, he's kind of over it.

Rachel spends the rest of her weekend thinking about what Noah said about her relationship with Finn. And as much as she hates that he brought it up and made her think about it at all - because it wasn't any of his business - she realizes that he's right.

She hates that Noah is right.

Being with Finn is easy because they have half a relationship. They converse more in text messages than they do in person, and they only spend more than one night a week together if they're lucky. It's just so easy to be with him. Finn knows the best and the worst of her, and she knows all of that about him, too. They have history together, and she does love him. It's just...she doesn't miss him when he's gone, not like she should. At least, not like she would have when they were together before, and when she pictures her life in New York, Finn is never part of it.

There was a time when Finn was always a part of the life she saw herself having in New York, in one way or another, and knowing that that isn't the case any longer really puts things in perspective.

She decides that she has to end things before either of them gets a chance to really get hurt.

They don't get to see each other until Thursday afternoon, when she drives over to the house that he shares with two other football players after her ballet class. She finds him at his desk, typing away at something in his word processor. He has a bunch of notes and a textbook spread out around him, so she assumes that he's working on a paper for a class, and she doesn't understand why he told her to come over if he was just going to do homework.

Not that it's going to matter. She's here to break up with him.

"Hi," she greets quietly. He's grinning when he looks over at her, an expression she's always loved on him. "What are you working on?"

"Sociology," he answers, closing the lid of his laptop and turning his chair to face her when she perches on the side of his bed. "How was ballet?"

"Fine. We need to talk."

"Sure." He turns his chair the rest of the way so that her legs are between his. "What's up?"

She tucks her hands under her thighs so he can't reach for them. "I think we should break up," she says evenly, taking a little breath when she sees the way his face falls before plowing on when the speech she's spent the last few days rehearsing. "This isn't a real relationship, Finn. We barely spend any time together, and I don't think you miss me when I'm not around any more than I miss you."

He blinks at her, like he's putting it all together, but he doesn't look particularly hurt or upset, not like the last time they broke up. (And that one was mutual.) After a minute, he shrugs one shoulder. "I do love you," he says, almost reluctantly.

"I know," she whispers, because she does. "I love you, too. But we haven't been in love for a long time, Finn. This," she pulls one hand from beneath her thigh to gesture between them, and he catches it in one of his, "this is just easy," she finishes, squeezing his hand gently.

He smiles. "It is really easy. Being with you."

"I know," she says with a nod. "But I don't think it's good for either of us in the long run."

"So...we're done?"

"Yeah. We're done."

It turns out that breaking up with Finn, this time around at least, is just as easy as being with him.

Noah actually beats her to the pop culture class they share on Friday morning, which she finds inexplicably annoying. She glares at him a little while she unbuttons her coat and takes the seat next to his.

"What's your problem?" he finally asks when she doesn't greet him like usual.

She fixes him with another glare, this one more deliberate. "You'll be happy to know that I ended things with Finn last night thanks to your unsolicited advice."

"Whoa, what advice?" Puck asks, looking at her like she's crazy. Yeah, he pointed out that their relationship was bullshit, but he didn't tell her to do anything about it, mostly because he knows how fucking hard-headed she is. Nothing he could have said would have _made_ her do anything.

She doesn't get a chance to answer because the professor starts class, and she spends the entire hour pretending that she can't see him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.

"So, what? You're all pissed off at me now because you decided to break up with Finn?" he asks after class. He watches her button her gray wool coat as they walk down the steps of the building their class is in.

"Not really," she admits. She doesn't feel much of anything about ending her relationship with Finn. Not feeling anything is sort of turning into a theme in her life, one that she's not really ready to look into any deeper.

"You wanna admit that I was right?"

She rolls her eyes at the smug little grin on his lips. "Shut up."

* * *

><p>Puck's sitting at the kitchen table on Saturday afternoon, plowing through a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, when Santana comes bursting into the house. She didn't come home last night, so she's still wearing the jeans and the white backless shirt she wore out to whatever bar or party she went to, and her hair's up in a ponytail.<p>

"'Sup, walk of shame?"

"Fuck off, Puck," she says, pulling open the tiny little purse in her hand and upending it on the table as she sits across from him. "I stayed with Amber last night."

Puck just rolls his eyes and takes another bite of cereal. Amber is her tall, blonde, hot friend, and this is Santana _'I bat for both teams'_ Lopez; the girl has a history with her hot blonde friends.

"Fuck off," she repeats seriously. "You're the one with the cheating whore of a girlfriend."

He stops with his spoon halfway to his mouth and stares at her. "What?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him, then turns her attention back to sorting through whatever the hell accumulated in her purse in one night. "I went out with Amber last night, and we ran into Amy and her friend Sarah, who is in the same program as Mia," she explains quickly, making Puck roll his eyes again. Santana knows fucking everybody somehow. "So we started talking about Mia, and I was informed that Mia and Chris, some guy in their program, have been the scandal of their poetry class since the day that they were caught fucking in the bathroom down the hall fifteen minutes before class started."

She says it all very casually, looking at a receipt from whatever bar she was at before crumpling it up with a napkin he can see has a number scrawled on it, but he knows her well enough to know that she's not just fucking him around right now. Still...

"Seriously?"

She pushes away from the table and stands. "I think she's been cheating on you for a while." She grabs her phone and walks out of the room, leaving the rest of the mess on the table for Puck to stare out while he tries to figure out what the hell he's going to do.

In the end, he does what's easiest: He takes a shower, gets dressed, and drives over to Mia's apartment to ask her if she's fucking around on him.

When the first words out of her cheating mouth are, "Who told you that?" he's pretty fucking sure that it's all true.

And it could probably be some big, dramatic, drawn out thing, but Mia really isn't like that, and neither is Puck. (Unless, of course, you add Quinn, Rachel, Finn, or Santana into the mix. Then shit gets explosive.) He just tells her to fuck off and not call him again and deletes her number when he's walking back to his car.

He calls Rachel when he's about halfway back to his house. "So, I just found out Mia's a cheating slut," he tells her when she answers. "Wanna get drunk tonight?"

She makes this strangled noise that's almost a laugh. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

She meets Noah at an Irish-style pub called Finnegan's Wake. They each take a shot of Jameson, then Rachel decides to try pear cider when just the sight of Noah's Guinness turns her stomach.

It turns out that pear cider is delicious and doesn't taste at all like alcohol (though not quite like pink), which makes it easy to drink a lot of it quite quickly. Noah is drinking with a purpose, so just two hours into the night, they're both very drunk.

"Being cheated on sucks," he tells her seriously. He's already told her the whole story, though Noah was far less concerned with the details than Rachel would have been. She would need to know why, and with whom; he just needed confirmation and the opportunity to call her a slut. (Though Rachel doesn't think that _'cheater'_ and _'slut'_ are exactly synonymous.)

She takes a tiny sip of cider, watching him over the rim of her glass. "Do you think this is karma?" she asks gently. "No, really," she says when he rolls his eyes. "How many times have you been with a girl who had a boyfriend?"

"Including you?" he asks pointedly, earning himself a glare. But really, fuck that, and for that matter: "How many times now have you and Finn broken up? Seventeen?"

She huffs out a breath. "Officially, only three. Or four, depending on your definition of break up."

"That's fucked up." He drains the last of his beer and tilts his head at her. "Have you ever fucked anyone else?" She nearly chokes on her drink.

"Oh, my god," she manages after a minute of gasping for air. "That is none of your business."

Puck just stares at her incredulously, because her refusal to answer the question is all the answer he needs. "You didn't have sex for a year?"

She hisses his name, glancing around to see if anyone else is listening, then lets out a sigh when she realizes that they'e being completely ignored.. "Fourteen months, actually."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"After a while, you kind of forget about it all together," she admits, shrugging one shoulder. She gestures for the waitress to bring her another drink. She's already drunk, but she wants more. It's just so tasty, and if Noah is going to start talking about sex, she's going to need it.

"You don't forget about sex," he insists. "Fuck, at least tell me you gave yourself a hand."

He watches her cheeks turn pink. "Stop it." She changes the subject, and he lets it go. It's not like this is his only opportunity to get her all worked up.

They take a cab back to her apartment after last call, and she puts Puck in charge of microwaving the popcorn when she goes into her room to change into pajamas. He's sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for her when she comes in in a pair of purple pajamas patterned with little yellow flowers. He watches her reach up into a cabinet for a bowl, then into the fridge for two bottles of water. "What?" she asks with a laugh, handing him one of the bottles.

And since he's fucking drunk, he tells her the truth. "I'm trying to figure out if you'd go classic and just use your hand, or if you'd actually buy a vibrator." Her eyes go wide, which is kind of awesome.

"Just for that, you're sleeping on the couch," she finally manages.

They find some _Family Guy_ reruns to watch while they eat their popcorn, and Rachel ends up falling asleep on the couch with her feet in Noah's lap and her head pillowed on the armrest.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I just wanted to take a second to thank everyone for the amazing feedback on the last chapter. It means so much to hear what you think about the story. Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel spends most of November dreading Thanksgiving, and why shouldn't she after how terribly it went last year? Besides that, this is the first real holiday she's celebrated since Daddy died, and none of them are ever going to be the same again. This is just the beginning. After Thanksgiving, there's Hanukkah and her birthday and Christmas, a holiday that she shared with Daddy more than anyone else.

This has always been her favorite time of year. It's all cashmere and twinkle lights and nutmeg and snowflakes, and none of it's ever going to be the same. She hates that it's been ruined for her.

This year, Aunt Donna and Uncle Jake are hosting the Thanksgiving festivities, which is really just icing on the cake. Rachel can't stand that woman, and it's significantly harder to get away from someone when you're a guest in her house.

Rachel spends Wednesday night baking an apple pie, which she has no intention of eating, and putting together a couple of dishes for herself so she doesn't go hungry when Aunt Donna insists that she 'forgot' Rachel's veganism and, _'why don't you just try a bit of this macaroni and cheese, hon?'_

She and Dad get up early to go to Cleveland, stopping at Starbucks for pumpkin spice lattes and playing songs from their favorite musicals for the drive. It all feels almost normal, except for the fact that Daddy's supposed to be sitting here in the front seat instead of her, complimenting his family for their musical taste but suggesting, as tactfully as he could manage, that perhaps they could try listening to something else for just a bit. (He always appreciated the theater, and he absolutely supported Rachel's aspirations, but he liked to take a break for something a bit more mainstream after a while.)

When that thought occurs to her, Rachel pushes it away and switches ahead to "Popular" in the playlist they're listening to. It isn't her favorite song from _Wicked_, obviously, but it's about as far away from what's going on in her head as she can get.

In an effort to avoid family dramatics, Rachel spends the time before dinner is ready sitting in the basement with Uncle Jake and her cousins, Clayton and Dalton, watching the football game. There aren't many things she cares less about than professional football, but it's better than avoiding concerned looks and passive-aggressive comments from her aunt.

No, she gets to wait until she's politely turning down mashed potatoes (loaded, she knows, with butter and cream) and Aunt Donna purses her lips.

"Rachel, I don't know how you survive on nothing but beans and vegetables," she says, putting a greasy-looking turkey drumstick on Dalton's plate before passing it back to him.

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek, but then it's like something boils over. "Well, if you would make any sort of effort to understand my decision instead of just criticizing it," she begins, setting her fork on her admittedly quite empty plate, "then perhaps you'd know that I do eat more than beans and vegetables. And for that matter, maybe you would make an effort to prepare something more substantial, and frankly, more festive for the holiday that I could actually eat."

Aunt Donna's mouth is in a perfect _o_ when Rachel picks up her fork and spears a brussel sprout, and she catches a little smile on Nana's lips from the corner of her eye.

Her aunt is salty for the rest of the meal, but Rachel feels fantastic, honestly. She's been vegan since just after she turned sixteen, when she first watched _Food, Inc._ and started researching the diet in earnest. It's been nearly four years, and it feels good to finally say something so definitive to the woman who has, ridiculously, been her most vocal critic. She doesn't go out of her way to engage Aunt Donna in conversation for the rest of the meal, but she volunteers to to help with the dishes since the china has to be washed by hand and she didn't do any of the cooking.

She has her hands in the sink full of soapy water, and she's trying not to think about the bits of poor, sad birds that she just scraped into the trash can when Nana walks into the room and pulls a clean dish towel from the drawer next to the sink. "Those boys don't have any manners," she comments, drying one of the plates Rachel has stacked in the drain board.

Instead of saying anything, Rachel just offers her grandmother a little smirk. Clayton and Dalton don't have any manners because their mother babies them. She has literally never seen either of them even offer to wash a dish or help cook a single thing.

They work together in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Nana pulls Rachel out of her thoughts about how much she actually hates washing dishes by hand, saying, "David told me that you and your fellow called things off again." Rachel bites back the smile she feels threatening to come out. "You aren't getting any younger, bubbala."

"I'm not even twenty yet," she points out, rinsing the last bread plate. It's kind of wonderful, her grandmother bugging her about her love life and her hypothetical children (which she knows is coming). It's so _normal_.

"You've been saying for years that you want to be married and starting your family by the time you're twenty-five."

Rachel fights the urge to sigh. She meant that when she said it. Except now, it's so hard to even wrap her mind around building a family when the family she already knows has been torn apart.

"Things change," she says simply after a long moment, not quite meeting her grandmother's eyes. It's incredibly difficult to remember the last time she felt something more for a man than affection and perhaps sexual attraction. She loved Finn, yes, but she hasn't been stomach-full-of-butterflies in love since high school.

Nana takes the bread plate from Rachel's hand. "Make sure they don't change too much," she says gently.

She knows now that Nana isn't talking about men or children any more, but about _her_. "They won't," she promises in a whisper. And she means it. No matter what has happened in the last year and a half, she's going to have everything that she knows she's meant to have. She's going to New York, to Broadway. She's going to be a star.

She still believes that she can have it all.

* * *

><p>Puck makes mistakes.<p>

A lot of them. He always has.

The first time he remembers screwing up, he was six and playing in Ryan Baldwin's back yard next door to Puck's own house. He knew he was supposed to stay outside where his mom could look out the kitchen window and past the lilac bush to see him, but Ryan had just gotten the new NASCAR game for PlayStation, and he was just going to watch one quick lap at Daytona before he came back out. His mom was never supposed to notice. Except Ryan handed him the controller and told him he could try, and they'd been inside for nearly half an hour when Puck came back out. His mom wasn't in their house when he went to check, which freaked him the hell out. He went across the street to Mrs. Paxton's house just like he was supposed to in an emergency, because not being able to find your mom is definitely an emergency when you're six.

The old woman had hugged him so hard it hurt when she opened the door, and then she'd taken his hand and led him down the street where his mom was knocking on everyone's doors asking if they'd seen him. It turned out that she'd knocked at the Baldwins', but the boys were in the basement and Ryan's older brother was listening to music upstairs, so no one answered the door. She was super pissed that Puck had gone into the house at all, and he could see tears in her eyes before she pulled him into a tight hug. Then she'd wrapped her hand around his upper arm and marched him up the street, talking the whole time about how she was going to spank him as soon as they got to the house because he knew better, and '_you don't scare me like that_ ever again, _Noah Daniel_.'

He never did anything like that again. (And the craziest thing is, as clear as the memory of being marched up the street is, he doesn't remember being spanked at all. But fuck, he _remembers_ the tone of his mom's voice when she told him what she was going to do to him when they got home.)

And that's the thing: Puck _learns_ from his mistakes.

Yeah, fucking around with Quinn like he did was a huge fucking mistake, one that he didn't repeat. (Making out with Rachel when she was pissed off at Finn was _not_ the same thing as sleeping with Quinn because she didn't have any self-esteem, and he never would have let things go that far with Rachel anyhow, whatever anyone else thinks.) He hasn't had sex without a condom even once since the day he heard that she was pregnant. He stopped with the real delinquency stuff after he got sent to juvie; the worst shit he's done since then is use a fake ID and roll through some stop signs. Mr. Schue caught him cheating on a Spanish test senior year, and even though the guy just gave him a zero without writing him up, Puck never did that again either.

So, now that he's done the relationship thing in college and gotten cheated on, he's not going to make that mistake again.

He and Santana throw a party at their place the weekend before classes start again in January, and it turns into kind of a clusterfuck. Finn invites a couple of his football friends, and Sam brings a couple of people he knows from the residence halls, and Santana seems to know fucking everyone. All Puck can hope is that no one calls the cops on them, because just about everyone is underage, and just about everyone is drunk.

Including Rachel.

He finds her in the kitchen when he's trying to get away from this girl he fucked back before winter break. She's sitting on the counter, sipping something from a red cup and looking dubiously at the guy talking to her, one of Finn's football friends. He walks over and leans against the counter next to where she's sitting. "'Sup, baby?" he greets. He catches the dirty look on the football guy's face out of the corner of his eye.

"Noah!" she exclaims, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She's totally oblivious to the guy walking away, leaving them alone together. "I'm drunk."

He thinks it's kind of adorable how she always announces it, like he can't tell. Basically everything about her is adorable when she's drunk. "I see that."

She lifts an eyebrow and takes another sip of her drink. "Shouldn't you be pursuing a companion for the evening?" she asks.

"Nah." He takes her cup from her hand - she lets him - and takes a little sip. "I got that shit locked down already."

She makes a face and takes her cup back. She hates the way Noah talks about sex sometimes, like it doesn't mean anything. She understands now that it doesn't always _have_ to mean something, and she's certainly not the most experienced girl in the world (given that she's only been with one man), but she knows that sex with Finn was better when she was still in love with him. And maybe it doesn't always mean something emotionally, but that doesn't mean that sex doesn't mean something every time.

She's drunk and she isn't making sense in her own head.

"Does that mean you've found a new friend?" she asks, emphasizing the last word. Puck rolls his eyes.

"No, I don't have a fuck buddy." He doesn't want to commit to just one girl for anything, if he's being honest. Like, he's not the same guy he was when he was sixteen, and it's about more than getting what he wants, but he'd like to have that mutual satisfaction thing going on with more than one girl, that's all. He keeps all of that to himself though.

"What do you think are the chances that Santana isn't going to have sex tonight?" she asks abruptly.

He blinks. "Zero."

She makes a face. She was hoping that maybe she could stay here, with Santana, instead of having to leave with Finn. She loves him to death for being her sober driver, but when she saw him about half an hour ago, she could tell that he was ready to leave. It's only a matter of time before he finds her and spoils her fun.

"You could stay in my bed," he offers, leering a little.

"I thought you already had a bed partner lined up."

He shrugs, leaning just a little closer to her. "I'd rather have you," he says, and maybe it's just a little bit too honest, but whatever. Vodka does stupid shit to his head.

Rachel just shakes her head, because she obviously thinks Puck's just fucking around. And yeah, he is. He and Rachel are just friends, and the fact that she's hot and he'd fucking love to know what she's like in bed isn't enough for him to ruin their friendship.

Apparently he's growing up.

* * *

><p>Rachel's checking her email on her phone when she's walking home from class on the day that she gets her transfer acceptance from NYU. Her steps falter, and she nearly gets plowed over by an overweight boy in a green sweatshirt, but she's so excited that she doesn't care, doesn't really even register the affront that would usually leave her all sorts of indignant.<p>

She also doesn't care about the strange looks she gets when she lets out a little squeal and bounces on the balls of her feet a little as she rereads the email.

She calls Dad at work to share the news. "I'm going to NYU!" They're words that she's said before, meant before, but this time, it's different. This time, only her own death is going to stop her.

"You got your acceptance! Oh, Rachel, honey, I'm so happy for you." He means it, and she knows that, and she loves him so, so much for it. Truthfully, she loves everything right now. "We can go apartment hunting when you're on spring break," he suggests, and they spend half an hour on the phone even though she knows that he should probably working, doing lawyerly things.

For nearly two years, New York has felt like this almost mythical thing to her, just beyond the grasp of her fingertips, and finally she's going to have it.

Santana insists on a night out when Rachel bursts into the house to tell them that she's finally going to New York. Puck wants to hang out with them, but he has a sociology test tomorrow afternoon, and he really needs to study for that. He hasn't quite picked a major yet, but he's into this sociology stuff, and he thinks he wants to minor in it, which means he needs a good grade in this class.

Noah sits on Santana's bed with his notes while they get ready, insisting that he won't actually be getting any studying done until they're out of the house, so he might as well get to hang out while they do the _'girly getting ready shit.'_

"Could you help me?" she asks him, walking up next to where he's sitting on the bed. She went into the bathroom to change out of her jeans into this dress with the little cap sleeves, and normally she has no problem dressing herself, no matter the placement or style of the closure, but the zipper keeps catching at the seam that creates the waist of this dress. She could make it work, certainly, but he's just sitting there, so he might as well help.

She pulls her hair over her shoulder when he nods, turning so he can slide the zipper upwards. He makes a point of skimming the backs of his fingers over the bare skin between her shoulder blades, even though it's completely unnecessary, then pulls the zipper up easily. "It looks better on you than Santana," he tells her when she thanks him. He knows she borrowed the dress, and he thinks he likes it on Rachel because her tits aren't spilling out the top of it. (And yeah, it's weird that he likes it better this way, but whatever.)

It makes her cheeks feel a little warm when he compliments her, and she thinks she can still feel his fingertips against her skin. "Thank you."

They go to a club that's having a ladies' night, and Santana basically spends all of the time that they're not dancing sweet talking men into buying them drinks. "We're celebrating her move to New York," she tells them, biting her lip just a little. "Even if she is leaving me behind to do it."

It's almost sad how many men fall for it, this subtle and completely false allusion to their lesbian relationship, except it's getting Rachel excessive amounts of free alcohol, which most definitely is not sad.

About half an hour before last call, Santana runs into a boy from one of her business classes, and even drunk, Rachel can tell that her friend is going home with this boy the moment she sees them together.

"It's fine," she insists when Santana drags her to the bathroom to ask if she minds. "I just sent Noah a text, so he'll be here soon." She meets Santana's eyes in the mirror and bumps the girl's hip with her own. "Go have fun."

She's standing outside of the place when he pulls up to the curb, her arms crossed tightly over her chest because it's about forty degrees and she isn't wearing a coat. "Why do you wear a short-sleeved dress when it's this cold?" he asks when she closes the door behind her, reaching over to turn up the heat and point a vent at her.

She shakes her head, tugging the seat belt across her body. "It won't matter how many times I explain it to you, you'll never understand," she insists, fighting the shudder than want to run through her body and make her teeth chatter. "But alcohol helps." She's almost shivering, yes, but she doesn't really feel uncomfortable. She knows her feet are going to ache tomorrow, because they always do when she wears this particular pair of heels, but there's enough alcohol in her system that she can't really even feel her feet at all. It makes her nearly impervious to the cold as well.

Puck just shakes his head. She's right: He will never understand that shit.

"You should come up with me," she says when he pulls onto her street. She shrugs her shoulder when he looks over at her questioningly. "My zipper could get stuck again."

He ends up using his key to get into her apartment because hers is buried at the bottom of her little purse, not that he understands how anything gets buried in a purse that small. Seriously, growing up with women and living with one doesn't make all the mysteries go away.

She locks the door behind them out of habit, ignoring the amused little smirk on Noah's lips. "When is your test tomorrow?" she asks, dropping her bag and walking to the kitchen.

"One."

"You should just stay here," she suggests, reaching into her fridge for a bottle of Vitamin Water. She wonders how small her kitchen in New York will be, how spoiled she's been by this place. She doesn't care if she lives with a hot plate and a mini-fridge, it'll be perfect.

"Why?" he asks. He watches her struggle to twist off the cap twice before taking the bottle from her hand and opening it easily.

She shrugs and takes a little sip of her drink once she's gotten it back from him. "So I don't have to sleep all alone."

"Rachel..."

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she wishes she hadn't said them, even if they are true. She's an affectionate drunk. This isn't new or different or even particularly interesting information, as far as she's concerned, and she wants someone to be touching her, sleeping beside her. But she can see his reticence, and she wishes that she'd either kept her mouth shut or that he'd jumped at the chance to stay.

She sets her bottle on the counter and turns her back to Noah, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. "Help me?"

He slides the zipper down slowly, stopping just below where it caught earlier. "There you go."

"Thank you." She turns to look up at him through her eyelashes. "You should stay," she repeats quietly.

"I still have some studying to do," he tells her. She's drunk, which makes this a bad idea all over, bu the really does need to go over his notes again.

She wants to believe him, but she doesn't, not really. "Okay," she says, keeping her tone light. "Thank you for picking me up."

"Any time, Rach."

She walks him to the door with her half-unzipped dress gaping at the back, turning the lock and sliding the chain as soon as he's gone, just like she would any other time.

She can feel the loneliness wash over her as she changes for bed. It's not at all an unfamiliar feeling; Rachel grew up feeling lonely, wishing for a little brother or sister, wondering about her mother, praying for a best friend, any friend. Feeling like she's all alone and always will be isn't new. But she's drunk, and alcohol makes her more dramatic and more needy.

It's a little embarrassing, but there are tears in her eyes when she stands in the bathroom to wash her face, tears that she splashes away with lukewarm water and pats dry with a soft towel. She drinks a whole glass of water before crawling into bed, to fight the hangover she's certain to have tomorrow morning, then turns out the light.

And stares up at the ceiling in the darkness.

She wasn't just with Finn because it was easy. She was with Finn so she wouldn't be completely alone. Being with him, even if they didn't have any time to spend together, at least gave her the illusion of having someone to go to, someone to save her from being alone forever.

She can't stop the tears that well up in her eyes, and no matter how many times she swallows against the lump in her throat, it won't go away.

The tears she cries are mostly out of self-pity, which leads to something like self-loathing, and she's completely drained when she falls asleep.

* * *

><p>Puck makes an appointment to meet with his adviser before he registers for next semester's classes, partially because the university tells him he has to and partially because he has to declare his major.<p>

He knows that everyone thinks he's just been fucking around for two years, getting through gen eds and taking school only as seriously as he has to, but that's not true. He had to work his ass off to get into college, and it's not the sort of opportunity that he's just going to throw away now that he has it. He wants to do it right, to choose a major that leads to a career that he really likes, something that he's going to be able to do for the next forty or so years.

Maybe some people get advisers who are super-dedicated and go out of their way to help their advisees figure out what the hell they want to do, but Puck didn't. Dr. Jarrett seems nice enough, but he's one of those professors who has about a hundred students he's advising, all of whom are undecided and probably going to drop out before they ever manage to choose a major. It's not that the guy doesn't do his job, because he does, but Puck can tell that he just doesn't really give a fuck.

Puck sits down on the empty chair in the guy's super messy office, looking past the mountain of papers on Dr. Jarrett's desk. "You're here to discuss a major, right, Noah?"

Puck nods. "I want to be an architect." Dr. Jarrett looks at him expectantly. "My dad left when I was little, but even before he did, my mom wanted more than we had. She used to draw up like, floor plans for her dream house, and I used to really like listening to her talk about what it would be like. I think I'd be good at doing that for people." It's kind of an oversimplification, and he fumbles his way through it, but Puck knows that it gets his point across.

The professor just nods. "And a minor?"

"Sociology."

"Logical." Dr. Jarrett looks sort of proud or something, which is a look Puck's kind of getting used to seeing on the faces of authority figures and shit. It's weird how much he likes it. "Let's talk about what classes you're going to take next semester."

* * *

><p>He's procrastinating when Santana comes into his room, looking at the Facebook page of the girl he hooked up with last weekend. She tried to friend him, which he's going to ignore, but not until he's at least looked at it to gauge her crazy. It'd be nice to have a fuck buddy, someone he can just call up instead of having to go looking every time he wants to get laid. This girl is not a candidate, based on his standard criteria.<p>

"Have you talked to Rachel today?" Santana asks, leaning against the doorway. He shakes his head. "We were supposed to have lunch together on campus, and she didn't show up, and her phone goes straight to voice mail when I call."

He shrugs. "She forgot and her phone is off." It doesn't seem like such a big deal to him.

"When was the last time Rachel forgot to do something she was supposed to do with you?" she asks pointedly.

Okay, so he can't remember Rachel ever forgetting anything. She's like an elephant or whatever, annoyingly so.

"I called Finn and asked him to stop by her apartment, to check on her," she goes on. "Her car was in the parking lot, but she didn't answer when he knocked." That doesn't necessarily mean anything either, given all the places that are within walking distance of Rachel's apartment, but he knows Santana knows that, so he doesn't say anything. "I'm worried about her," she says quietly. "Do you remember what today is?"

Actually, he doesn't even know what today's date is, so he looks at his computer screen to check, hovering his cursor over the clock in the corner. Fuck. "Her dad."

"A year ago," Santana agrees with a nod. "Look, I can't go over there. I have a test in my economics class."

Puck looks at her blandly. "You want me to go check on her." And she isn't asking, she's telling.

She shrugs one shoulder. "You have a key." He rolls his eyes and closes his computer, setting it aside. "Puck, please."

She doesn't really have to ask, because he's already getting up and shoving his phone in his pocket. "I'll let you know when I talk to her."

Santana is a great friend, and Puck knows that. She's been there for him plenty of times over the years. He gets that she's worried about Rachel because she really does care about the girl. But Santana doesn't do so well with the big emotional stuff, even her own big stuff. She runs away if she can, shuts down a little if she can't, even when it's someone she loves. So Puck will take the bullet, so to speak, and save Santana from having to do or having to feel guilty about not doing it.

Rachel lets out a sigh when she hears the knocking on her door. She wonders if it's Finn again, or if someone else has decided to come looking for her. Five years ago, the thought that someone would come looking for her because she disappeared for half a day would have thrilled her, but right now, she really doesn't want to see anyone, well-meaning or otherwise.

Dates on the calendar don't hold any power.

She keeps telling herself that, has been telling herself that for a year. It worked on Daddy's birthday, but now, today...

She couldn't even bring herself to get out of bed to compose an email to explain her absence to her professors. She turned off her phone when she got Santana's first _where are you?_ text message. She could barely manage to get up to tug the curtains closed over the windows to block out the light before she crawled back beneath the covers, burrowing down into the cocoon of her pillows and blankets, wallowing in the emptiness until she fell asleep.

Finn's knocking was what woke her up the first time, and then the knocking was joined by the shouting of her name through the door. She doesn't feel good about ignoring him, but she doesn't want to see anyone today. She doesn't feel like she can.

She lets out a little sigh when the new knocking stops, sinking further into her mattress and closing her eyes.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Noah says her name from the doorway.

"Please leave," she sighs once she realizes she isn't in danger, looking over at him. He rolls his eyes. "Noah."

"Santana's really worried about you," he says quietly, ignoring what she wants and stepping into her bedroom.

"So why are you here?"

"Because Santana's allergic to human emotion." He grins when Rachel rolls her eyes, walks across the room to sit on the edge of the mattress. "Look, do you want to talk about it?"

"I want to be alone," she tells him seriously. "I didn't mean to concern anyone, but I stayed in all day because I wanted to be by myself."

"Okay," he agrees easily, toeing off his shoes. He pulls his legs up onto the bed and shifts back so he's leaning against the headboard, right where he can see the glare on her face perfectly. "You can be alone, and I'll just be here chillin', by myself."

"Noah."

"Shhh." He presses a finger to his lips and lets his head drop back so he's looking up at the ceiling. "I'm trying to be by myself here."

She lets out a tiny laugh, the only sound that can make its way past the lump that's risen in her throat. Being alone today wasn't about being by herself, but more about not having to talk about her daddy with anyone else, not being forced to answer any questions or endure those sympathetic looks that you think she'd be used to by now. But Noah has always understood things about her without her having to say them, and she thinks he understands this, too. And really, from the beginning of everything with Daddy, Noah has been the one who seemed to understand what she was feeling better than anyone else. So she doesn't say anything or ask him to leave, just lies there and closes her eyes.

Puck isn't watching her, because that shit's creepy, but he can tell when she falls asleep. Her breathing evens out and she goes very still beside him. He sends a text to Santana, tells her that Rachel's okay and he's going to hang out to make sure she stays that way, and turns off his phone.

Rachel isn't the kind of girl who needs someone to take care of her. She can handle her own shit, and she's independent to a fault. Sometimes though, Puck thinks that she might need someone to pick up some of the slack for her, like it gives her permission to let go and do or feel whatever it is she needs. And someday, she'll figure that out and ask for the help instead of pretending that she can do it all on her own.

He's still there when she wakes up, lying beside her and reading the book she had on her bedside table. "Hi."

"Hey." He closes the book, but keeps his finger between the pages, like he's holding his place. "I kinda like this."

"It's a sequel," she tells him quietly, her voice scratchy with sleep. "The first one is her parents dying from her point of view." He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't look away either, even though he wants to. It kills him that she's reading a book about a girl whose parents died right now.

They order Chinese when she admits that she hasn't eaten anything today, and they sit in the living room to eat, even though she isn't hungry. Her chest feels as empty as her stomach, hollow all the way through, though the feeling dissipates a little after some veggie stir fry and two _Friends_ reruns. Maybe this is the sort of day she should have been trying to have all along, low-key and quiet instead of going for complete isolation.

"Thank you for coming over," she says quietly as the credits roll on an episode. "For checking on me." She toys with the edge of the throw blanket she has over her lap so she doesn't have to look at him.

"Sure."

He watches her press her lips together, then take a little breath. "Do you think-" She cuts herself off with a little sigh, like she's annoyed with herself, and looks over at him. "Do you think you could stay with me tonight?" Her lips quirk up in a ghost of a smile, though it doesn't meet her eyes. "You know I wouldn't normally ask, but...I thought I wanted to be alone today, and I was wrong."

She's breaking his fucking heart with this shit.

He just nods. "Yeah, I'll stay."

It's only like, ten o'clock, and he can't even remember the last time he went to bed this early, but he can see the exhaustion on her face, so he doesn't say anything about it. He just texts Santana to let her know that he's not coming home tonight, changes into the sweats (Finn's, obviously) that Rachel produces from her dresser, and gets into the bed beside her, letting out a little hum when she tells him good night and turns off the light.

Rachel thinks that just his presence beside her will be enough to make her feel better, so she curls up on her left side like always, her back to Noah when she bends her legs and tucks one hand beneath her pillow. She listens to the quiet sound of his breathing when she closes her eyes.

He puts his hand behind his head as he lies on his back, trying to figure out when the last time he and Rachel shared a bed was, and kind of feeling like shit when he realizes that it was a year ago today, after he picked her up from the hospital where her daddy was dying. He's wondering if she remembers when she says his name quietly in the darkness. "Yeah?"

Rachel turns over onto her opposite side to face Noah, tucking one hand under her cheek as she looks at him through the darkness. "I'm not usually the biggest fan of it, but would you be averse to some cuddling?" she asks softly. She feels incredibly silly for asking at all, but even more so when she realizes that she just asked Noah Puckerman how he feels about _cuddling_.

All he can really see is the whites of her eyes when he looks over at her. "C'mere."

She turns back over as she moves to the middle of the bed so Noah can press his chest against her back, his hand resting on her hip over her pajama pants. He's warm and solid behind her, and she lets out a little breath when he presses his lips against her shoulder through her tee shirt. "Thank you," she murmurs quietly, relaxing back into him.

"G'night, Rach," he answers, squeezing her hip gently.

She remembers the last time she fell asleep with Noah, right after she found out that Daddy had died, the way that he'd pulled her close and held her tight until she fell asleep. But what really sticks with her, the thing she's caught herself thinking about once or twice, is how it felt to wake up with him. She knows that it was an illusion, just the fact that she was literally beside him, but it was almost like she wasn't all alone, the way she's spent most of her life feeling, like someone else would notice if she if she actually fell apart and shattered into a million little pieces.

She puts her hand over his on her hip and slips her fingers between his just because it feels right, and she feels better, more relaxed in the moments before she falls asleep than she has all day.


	9. Chapter 9

Puck is pretty stoked when the semester finally ends. Spring semester always feels longer than the fall, and he's spent the last few months running around a lot. Maybe it's weird, but he's sort of looking forward to just fucking around in Lima, even if it is going to be super low-key. As far as he knows, Rachel's the only other one who's going to be around, biding her time before she moves to New York to be a star. Santana will be in Columbus in between trips to Greece and Hawaii with various family members (chick has more cousins than anyone on the planet, legit), and Sam's staying in Puck's room at the house while he works in Columbus for the summer since the dorms are closed. Finn's still doing the football thing and has camps and practices all summer, and Puck doesn't really keep up with anyone else that much.

His mom's the only reason he ended up deciding to come home. Well, not that she gave him much of a choice. One of the doctors at the clinic where she's a nurse is doing a tour in Nepal or Nicaragua or somewhere with Doctors Without Borders, and she volunteered Puck to house-sit for the guy. And yeah, Puck kind of got roped into it, but Dr. Steward is cool as hell, and he's actually a really nice guy. His wife died of breast cancer a couple of years back, and he has two sons who are a few years older than Puck, which means that his house is way too big for the guy, but he refuses to move to a smaller place. The place is huge, with a pool and an indoor jacuzzi and all that stuff, and Puck's basically going to be living there for most of July and part of August, and getting paid a shit ton of money to do it.

So, yeah. Summer in Lima won't totally suck.

Abby's thirteen now, and he's about ninety percent sure that the attitude she's giving him is something she learned during those couple of months when Quinn was living with them. She's a cheerleader at her middle school, and she's already talking about trying out for the Cheerios, which...well, Puck's trying really hard not to think about it, especially since it's at least a year away.

He spends his first week catching up on all the sleep he didn't get during finals and vegetating around the house, but then he starts to get bored. Plus, Abby's around most days, and his mom gets home at 5:30 exactly each night, at which point she hovers. At first, it's kind of nice, having her cooking and checking up on him and stuff, but he's spent two years living on his own, so it's not exactly necessary. He loves his mom, but she could give nice Jewish girls lessons in how to smother a dude.

He doesn't bother calling Rachel before driving over to the Berrys' house, stopping at Starbucks on his way, and he can tell that she's surprised to see him when she answers the door. She's wearing little red cotton shorts with a gray tee shirt, her hair is up in a ponytail, and she isn't wearing any makeup. "There are too many women in my house," he tells her, holding out the iced soy caramel macchiato he got because he knows she likes them.

"Okay," she draws out, taking the drink from his hand. She's not even bothered by his failure to greet her like a normal person or the fact that he just pushes past her into the house without an invitation, though she does wonder why he left the women in his house to come spend time with her.

He shrugs when she asks, wandering into the living room and flopping down onto the couch. There's a book open on the coffee table that he can tell she was reading, and Martha Stewart is on the TV talking about covering glass Christmas balls with glitter. (Seriously? It's June.)

Rachel follows him, and she's just waiting for him to comment on how boring she's being, reading book and watching reruns of talk shows on television. Honestly though, she isn't bored. It's nice to slow down a bit and do nothing, and besides, Daddy always used to say that only a boring person could ever be bored. Just because she isn't doing anything exciting doesn't mean that she isn't enjoying herself.

She intends to use this summer to relax, making the most of what she thinks could be her last opportunity to spend a long stretch of time at home without any real responsibility. She doesn't have any real intention to coming back to Lima for any significant amount of time after this summer. It's where she's from, where she grew up, but she feels quite sure that New York will be home just as soon as she gets there.

They end up just hanging out at her place. She reads her book and he flips channels, and they find _That '70s Show_ playing on some channel. Noah points out all of the marijuana references (unnecessarily, but she doesn't tell him that) and makes some less-than-subtle references to wanting to get high with her that she completely ignores. She's never been quite as innocent as everyone seemed to believe, but she likes letting them; it amuses her to see the surprise on their faces when she references something they don't expect.

It becomes a habit pretty quickly, just the two of them hanging out. Rachel is teaching a couple of dance classes at the JCC and spending time with Dad while she can, but most of her time is spent with Noah. They don't really _do_ anything. They see some movies and go to the lake a few times, but it's mostly just television and books and movies and video games. (Because Rachel is secretly really, really good at Mario Kart, because she secretly really, really loves the game.)

"You and Noah have been spending an awful lot of time together," Dad comments one night at dinner. She looks over at him and sees the unspoken question in his eyes.

"We're just friends," she tells him easily. It's the truth. Yes, they're spending a lot of time together, but that's because there isn't anyone else around to spend time with. It stands to reason that she feels a certain amount of affection for Noah, but that doesn't mean that there's more to them spending time together than friendship.

Dad doesn't say anything else about it, but there's a little grin on his lips when he goes back to his fried rice that she finds more than a tiny bit annoying, and she catches herself thinking about the conversation more than once in the weeks to come.

* * *

><p>A year ago, Puck had a dozen friends in Lima, and it doesn't matter how much of Dr. Steward's trust he'd have been putting in jeopardy: He would have invited every single one of those friends over the first night he was in the dude's house, and they would have gotten fucked up.<p>

And they probably would have torn shit up or broken something, so it's probably a good thing that Puck didn't get this house-sitting gig last summer.

He invites Rachel over the first night he's there instead, and they drink beer and watch _Almost Famous_ in Dr. Steward's totally impressive basement media room, and once the movie's over, she goes home. Completely low-key.

House-sitting is the easiest money Puck has ever made. The dude has a housekeeper and a landscaper to take care of the house and the yard, and he doesn't have any pets, so all Puck has to do is check the mail, hang out at the house, and sleep there most nights so the place isn't empty and susceptible to little teenage jerks. (You know. The ones who act the way Puck did when he was in high school.)

Rachel and Noah are still spending the majority of their time together, though now they're taking advantage of the doctor's amenities instead of just hanging out at her house. His multi-media room is incredibly impressive, the pool is lovely, and he has a kitchen that her little baker's heart is just dying to have a go at. Sometimes it feels a little like playing house, like when she makes lunch for them when they're just hanging out, or when they spend an evening curled up downstairs for a movie marathon. It's fun, having this big place all to themselves, and Rachel would be lying if she said she hadn't pretended, once or twice, that it was _their_ house.

Marlene catches up to her at the JCC one day to ask if she would be willing to bake something to donate for Abby's middle school cheerleading squad's bake sale. It's the perfect excuse to use Dr. Steward's kitchen, and besides that, Rachel likes to bake and she likes the Puckermans. Even though she's about half-terrified of the idea of Abby becoming a Cheerio someday, she's happy to help out. Cheerleading does make sense for the girl. For all of her own personal clashes with cheerleaders, Rachel understands that it can be a physically demanding sport, and Abby certainly has the athleticism for it. There's also the fact that the girl has really grown into her looks in the last couple of years, and she's going to be absolutely stunning in another year or two. (Really, a girl that gorgeous? She's going to end up being just as popular as Noah was, and Rachel can already picture her with the high ponytail and the short skirt.)

She doesn't so much ask Noah if she can use Dr. Steward's kitchen to make her famous cinnamon oatmeal chocolate chip cookies as she just shows up with bags of ingredients and asks him if he wants to keep her company while she bakes.

Puck just smirks and asks if he gets to keep cookies of his own, then parks his ass on one of the stools on the opposite side of the center island from where she's working, watching her like she's on Food Network. She's using a Kitchen-Aid mixer like a pro, measuring and dumping things, and she's even wearing a a red checkered apron.

It's kind of fucking adorable.

She's scooping the dough onto sheet trays with a miniature ice cream scoop, and he's watching her like it's the most fascinating thing. "What?" she laughs after a while.

He shrugs. "You're so housewifey," he answers, grinning when she laughs. "It's kind of hilarious that you can be all Barbra Streisand and then do this."

She tries not to smile too widely at the comparison when she puts the cookie sheets into the ovens. (Yes, plural. This kitchen has gorgeous, spotless double ovens, and they make her jealous.) "I've always been very multi-talented, Noah. I thought you knew that," she finally says, taking the cooling racks from the cabinet and spreading them out over the counter so they'll be ready when she needs them.

"I guess I just haven't seen all of them," he says lecherously so that she looks sideways at him.

She doesn't have anything to say to that, but she makes a point of putting two cookies on a plate just for him when the first batch comes out of the oven, setting it in front of him with a wink before pouring him a glass of milk.

* * *

><p>They go to see the latest summer comic book hero movie one night, and as much as the genre isn't her preference, the worst part of the evening is when they walk out of the too-cool theater into the hot, humid night air.<p>

"Why is it so awful?" Rachel asks when the goosebumps rise on her skin at the temperature difference. It's so humid she'd swear she can feel condensation collecting on her skin.

"That movie was not awful," Puck tells her seriously, and Rachel shakes her head.

"I mean the temperature."

"Oh." Honestly, he doesn't give a fuck _why_ it's hot. It's enough for him to walk outside and know that it is. "Let's go swim," he suggests. They've used the pool a lot, but they haven't swum at night yet, which seems like a waste of a good pool. He's working himself up mentally to convince her when she says yes, and he just barely catches the _'but swimming in the dark is awesome'_ on his tongue before it comes out.

Puck's already in the pool when Rachel comes out of the house in a hot pink two piece, dropping some towels onto a lounge chair and tugging the elastic from her hair so that it falls around her shoulders. Rachel's body has always been kind of ridiculous, and it's not so much that he forgets that she looks like that under her clothes, but...okay, so maybe he forgets. Whatever, now that she's showing it off, he's gonna look.

She never feels like her dives are graceful, so she instead sits at the edge of the pool so she can slip down into the water, loving the way the cool water surrounds her before she resurfaces, tipping her head back to slick her bangs out of her face. "What?" she asks when she notices Noah staring at her.

"You look really fucking hot right now," he tells her easily, moving towards her so he's standing chest-deep water.

She shakes her head a little, then leans back until she's floating on the surface of the water, letting her arms drift out to her sides. She closes her eyes for a long moment, and when she opens them again, all she sees are stars above her.

It startles her when something brushes her wrist. She lifts her head, looks over, and sees that Noah is imitating her, floating on his back beside her with his eyes closed. Looking at him, she has the sudden urge to take his hand and weave their fingers together. It startles her, and she sucks in a deep breath before blowing it out, her body losing the tiniest bit of its bouyancy and dipping a bit further beneath the surface of the water.

"This was a good idea," Rachel says after a while, and Puck opens his eyes to see that she's standing again, skimming her arms along the surface of the water.

"Told ya so."

She just shakes her head and watches him turn over so he's swimming underwater, and even with the lights in the walls of the pool, she can't see where he is. It worries her immediately, because there's no telling what he's going to do. She's startled when she feels his hands wrap around her ankles, but not surprised, and she just manages to kick out of his grip, pushing away until her back is against the ledge of the pool.

He's right in front of her when he resurfaces, flinging water droplets against her face when he shakes his head. She sets her hands on his chest and pushes him away, but he grabs her arms and pulls her with him into deeper water. "What are you doing?" she asks after a moment, feeling a little breathless. She's standing on the very tips of her toes to keep her head above water, and he takes hold of her forearms to hold her up, so there's almost no space between them.

"Fuckin' around," Puck answers. He isn't _doing_ anything.

She just shakes her head, pushing away from him, sinking down below the surface of the water and coming up against the wall opposite from where he's standing. It's been ages since she's been touched by a man, and if she lets herself get too close to Noah, she's going to do something she's going to regret, something that's going to mess up their friendship.

She'd like to blame her father for even putting the idea in her head, but that's just scapegoating, and she knows it. Her feelings towards Noah have been changing for a long time. It's just harder to ignore it when he's wearing so little and touching her and pulling her close, when they're all alone and there are stars above them.

She leaves a little earlier than she normally would, making an excuse about the dance class she's teaching tomorrow (because he doesn't know that it isn't until three o'clock), leaving him there in the pool when she goes. Dad is already in bed when she gets home, but Rock Hudson is sitting on the landing when she walks by, and he follows her into her room, curling up beside her and purring while she tries to make herself focus on the novel she's been reading each night before bed instead of thinking about her best friend's naked chest.

* * *

><p>On Puck's last day house-sitting for Dr. Steward, Rachel insists that he needs to make the most of it, shows up with makings for fajitas and margaritas, and sets herself up in the kitchen like she actually lives here or something. He makes the margaritas, and she thwarts his efforts to sit his ass on a stool and watch her cook, handing him a knife and a package of steak and telling him that if he intends to eat meat tonight, he's going to have to cook it for himself.<p>

They drink the entire first pitcher of margaritas before dinner is even finished cooking, and Rachel's just glad that they didn't get drunk until after they were finished chopping things, because knives and liquor really don't mix. And maybe Noah isn't completely drunk, having a higher tolerance for alcohol, but she most definitely is. (She even manages to burn her wrist on the edge of the pan when she stirs the rice, though she keeps it to herself, not wanting to listen to whatever comment Noah would come up with about her being a lightweight. She runs it under cold water for a moment under the guise of washing her hands, but it isn't anything serious.)

After they've eaten, he's stacking dishes in the dishwasher as she rinses them, standing beside her at the counter and sipping at the last of their second pitcher of margaritas.

"It's gonna be weird without you around this year," he tells her. She blinks at him because it's so out of nowhere; they were just talking about granite versus marble counter tops in an ideal kitchen. She doesn't really know how to respond to what he's said, so she doesn't say anything, focusing instead on rinsing out the blender pitcher before handing it to him. "I guess you're just happy to be done with Columbus," he says after a minute.

"I don't hate Columbus," she murmurs, rinsing out a sponge so she can wipe down the counters. "It just isn't where I'm supposed to be."

Puck finishes dumping detergent into the dishwasher and closes the door, then watches her wipe off the counter around the stove top and sink. "I'll miss your crazy ass, you know."

She leans back against the counter across from him, drying her hands on a towel. "Really?" He nods. "Just my ass though, right?" she teases, smiling when he grins and shakes his head. "It's going to be weird not to have you all right there," she admits, though she knows she's being too broad as soon as she says it. She and Finn are still friends, but they haven't really hung out since they broke up in November, and she's drifted away from Sam a lot, too. She'll certainly miss Santana, but she's going to miss Noah most of all.

Realizing that makes something tighten just behind her sternum.

She's starting to accept that she has a bit of a crush on Noah, and given that he's her friend, it's rather problematic. In the last year - maybe even longer than that - she hasn't gone more than a few days without seeing him, and they've spent enormous amounts of time together this summer. She already sort of hates the idea of going from seeing him every day to not seeing him for months.

It's probably why she takes a step forward and kisses him.

Puck's eyes are open when she presses her lips to his because this is totally out of nowhere. His eyes fall closed when she slips her hand into the back of his hair, pressing herself against him, and he has no idea what the fuck this is, but it feels awesome.

She pulls away from him after just a moment, leaning back a bit and looking up at him with wide eyes. He's basically her best friend, and kissing him could ruin all of that, could blur the lines of the relationship that they have and make things awkward just before she leaves. She's never had a lot of friends, and the last thing she wants to do is jeopardize what she has with Noah, but...

Well, she's drunk, and he's an amazing kisser, and it's been ages since she kissed _anyone_, and he's looking at her differently right now than he has in literally years. So she kisses him again, curling her fingers into his tee shirt at his side and moaning when she tastes tequila on his tongue, the lingering sharpness of the lime.

He doesn't know what the fuck's gotten into her, but it's hard to care when she does this thing with her tongue that shoots straight to his junk and almost pulls a moan from his throat. He backs her up against the opposite counter, pressing his hips into hers and pushing his hand into the back of her hair, tipping her head back just a little so he can kiss her more deeply.

She gasps his name when he sets his hands on her waist and lifts her up to sit on the counter, his lips skating up her jaw so he can nip at the lobe of her ear. "Rachel."

She just kisses him again, hooking her feet behind his thighs to pull him closer, whimpering a little when he presses himself between her legs and fists his hand in her hair. It's been so _long_ since she's done this, since she was last with Finn, and god, she's missed it.

Puck slides his hand up the back of her shirt, pressing his palm in the center of her back to keep her close to him when he slides his other arm under her ass as he tugs her off the counter and walks towards the stairs. He fucking wants her, even though he knows it's wrong, and he doesn't want her in Dr. Steward's kitchen. No, he's spent enough time thinking about what Rachel would be like in bed to actually want to have her in a bed

And yeah, it's probably really, really wrong to do this when she's drunk, but she's got her legs wrapped around his waist, and she whimpers his name when he sucks at the skin on the side of her neck, and Puck hasn't gotten laid in like, weeks, since the weekend he went back to Columbus to hang with Sam for his birthday and he took that blonde back to the house with him.

He sets her gently on the side of the bed in the guest room he's been using as his own, tugging her tank top up over her head and leaning down to lay kisses across her chest just above the cups of her bra. "Noah," she breathes out, her hand sliding across the back of his neck. She watches him when he pulls away for just a moment, to pull his own shirt over his head, biting her lip when he smirks down at her. It's an expression she's seen so many times, but it's different now. "Noah, please." She feels a little desperate, looking up at him. She brings her hand to the front of the shorts he's wearing, pops open the button and tugs at the zipper just a bit. "I need you."

Something about those words, the way they sound coming from her lips, snaps Puck back to reality. This is _Rachel_. He kind of hates himself for it, but he catches her wrists in his hands and stops her from taking his shorts all the way off. "We can't do this."

She gapes at him. "What?"

"You're drunk, and I'm drunk, and it's probably a bad idea," he finishes lamely when he realizes that she's glaring at him. And fuck, it's kind of hot, because the flush on her cheeks is spreading down her chest, across the top of her tits. But fucking around with his drunk friend is a bad idea, and Puck knows it; he learned that lesson with Quinn years ago.

"Be serious, Noah." She tugs her hands away from his and slides them up his stomach, scratching her fingernails gently back down his sides. "I've seen the way you look at me sometimes." She licks her lips and gazes up at him, letting her fingertips slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. "I know you want me."

"Rachel, stop." He sounds almost like he's in pain, which, given the erection she can see that he has, makes sense. The fact that he's telling her to stop, however, does not, so she just shakes her head and pushes her hand a little lower. "Rachel, _stop_," he repeats harshly, batting her hands away from his body. "Fuck."

Honestly, she doesn't understand this game that he's playing, but she thinks that's what it must be: a game. Some strange version of hard to get, maybe. She doesn't know the rules, and she doesn't feel like playing games anyhow, so she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, shrugging the garment off and letting it fall onto the floor between them.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he bites out, scrubbing a hand over his head and looking up at the ceiling to keep himself from looking at her tits like he wants. "Rachel, I don't want to have sex with you."

She blinks, looking up at his face. He won't meet her eyes. "What?"

"I don't want to have sex with you," he repeats, and he sounds so serious that she wishes she knew where her shirt was so she could cover herself. She crosses her arms over her chest instead. "Rach-"

"Fine," she interrupts quickly. She glances around and sees her shirt on the floor next to his feet, so she leans over to grab it, tugging it over her head quickly without bothering with her bra.

"Rachel-"

"Don't," she snaps. She's humiliated, and she wants to be as far away from him as possible, so she stands up and pushes past him, walking out the door as quickly as she can without running.

Fuck. Puck fucking hates himself for this shit, and he never should have let it get this far, but he he can't fuck Rachel. He knows her, and the girl isn't built for one night stands, for sex that doesn't mean anything but feeling good and getting off. It would turn into a big thing if they slept together, and he doesn't want that. He's pretty sure that she doesn't either. It's just better to let her go, especially since she's drunk.

He goes looking for her when it occurs to him that she's drunk and she just ran out of the room like she was leaving. She cannot drive like this, and it doesn't matter how mad she is, he can't let her. Her car is still in the driveway next to his when he looks out the front windows, so he knows she's here somewhere.

It takes twenty minutes, but he finds her in the basement, in the media room. Crying in the dark.

_Fuck._

He leaves her there because he knows there isn't anything to say that can make this better. But honestly, he'd rather she be mad or upset or whatever because he didn't have sex with her than because he did.

* * *

><p>She hates him.<p>

Or maybe she hates herself.

Rachel stayed in the basement for two hours, waiting to feel sober enough that she could drive herself home without feeling like she was driving drunk. She still felt pretty terrible doing it when she did, but she couldn't stay in that house any more, and besides that, it's less than a mile from Dr. Steward's house to her own, and there isn't any traffic in Lima at that hour.

But honestly, driving with alcohol still in her system just makes this entire situation that much worse. Drinking and driving is incredibly irresponsible, and not something she would ever do under normal circumstances. She certainly wasn't drunk when she drove home, but she normally would have at least slept it off before driving.

Rachel has been humiliated a lot in her life. God, high school was a string of humiliations, most of which involved various food stuffs (and once, vomit) being thrown in her face. But this...she was half-naked, and he said he didn't want to have sex with her.

Her ego is bruised, sure. But worse than that, Noah's rejection hurt her feelings.

His phone call wakes her just after nine the next morning. She ignores it, then turns the phone off before rolling over to close her eyes and pretend (for whose benefit, she isn't sure) to sleep.

Puck waits until after he knows David will be home from work to go over to the Berrys' house. He knows Rachel, and if she's mad, she just straight up won't let him in the house. David, however, obviously has no idea that anything happened between Puck and his daughter, because he just lets Puck in and tells him that Rachel's in her room before going into the kitchen.

Rachel rolls her eyes when Noah walks into her bedroom, but he ignores her, coming over to sit beside her on the bed. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bra she was wearing last night, dropping it onto the bedspread between them. Asshole. She keeps doing what she was doing, looking at handmade recycled wood jewelry on Etsy. At least, she pretends that she's still looking. She's really just waiting for him to say whatever he has to say.

"Last night," he begins, and fuck, if he couldn't figure out what to say to her all day, he doesn't know why he thought he'd figure it out when he got here. "We were drunk," he offers lamely.

She scowls at him, closing the lid of her laptop. "Yes."

He lets out a sigh. "I didn't want to fuck things up between us," he admits. "I like that we can actually be friends, and getting all naked and sweaty would have changed shit."

"Eloquent," she deadpans. And no, he isn't wrong. Sleeping together would have changed things.

So has her realization that she has some sort of feelings for him.

She doesn't have to tell him that though. She can keep it to herself, and nothing has to change. It wouldn't be the first time she's had more-than-platonic feelings for a friend, and besides, it's not like she can act on those feelings when she's in New York and he's in Ohio.

"Go home," she tells him after a moment. She can't do this now, and she doesn't want to.

"Rachel," he starts, but she shakes her head, and he can tell by the look on her face that she has something else she wants to say.

"I'm embarrassed," she admits, not quite meeting his eyes. "I don't want you to think of me like that." She glares when she sees the smirk on his lips, though she isn't surprised. He practically lives in the gutter, and he hasn't made a secret of the fact that he's imagined her in compromising positions before. But before, he hadn't actually seen her half-naked. "Throwing myself at you," she clarifies. "That isn't me."

"I know." Fuck, that's why he stopped her. "You wanna go get dinner or something?" he asks after a while.

She shakes her head. She doesn't want to spend time with him at all, not now. "Dad and I have plans," she lies.

"All right." He get off of her bed and crosses the room, stopping in the doorway. "I'll see you around?"

"Sure." She's smiling, but it's fake. Puck can tell. It's not that she's not a good actress, but he knows her. She's still upset about what happened, plain and simple, and until she's over it, shit's gonna be weird.

Rachel waits until she hears his car pull out of the driveway to sink back into her pillows, letting out a sigh. She messed everything up, made things awkward with her best friend, and basically ruined her last two weeks of summer, her last two weeks in Lima, and she's completely annoyed with herself for that.

She feels like she just needs to get away from Noah, maybe even more than she needs to get out of Lima.

* * *

><p>Puck can tell that Rachel is avoiding him the last couple of weeks that she's in town, which sucks. The whole point of not sleeping with her was to not fuck up their friendship, and that apparently worked not at all. But then, Rachel is basically the queen of forgiving people for shit; in fact, just about everyone who is her friend now is someone who broke her heart or spread rumors about her or tossed slushies in her face, Puck included. She's going to realize, at some point, that what he did was a good thing. She's going to realize that she didn't really want to sleep with him, and then she's going to be grateful.<p>

He just hopes she figures that out sooner rather than later.

She shows up at his house the night before she leaves. She's wearing this little yellow sun dress, and she has her hair braided over her shoulder, shorter pieces sticking out all through it. She's toying with the end of the braid when he opens the door. He leans against the frame and smirks at her. "Hey."

"Hi." He jerks his head towards the stairs, because Abby's in the living room and his mom's in the kitchen, and he doesn't want them eavesdropping or whatever. Rachel nods, and he goes up first so he won't be tempted to look up her dress.

"I didn't want to leave without seeing you," she admits once they're in his room with the door closed.

"But you're still pissed," he supplies, and she sighs. Pissed isn't exactly the right word, though she's certainly been keeping her distance. "Rachel."

"I'm going to miss you," she says, ignoring his question. "I'm sorry I messed things up."

"Rachel." Fuck, she didn't mess anything up. "Don't be stupid."

She shakes her head. "I didn't come over here for reassurance. I just wanted to tell you goodbye."

Puck just nods. If she doesn't want to have a real conversation with him, she won't. She'll leave things like this between them until she's ready to be done with it, and yeah, it sucks that it won't be before she goes, but he's pretty sure that she'll come around before too long. "C'mere," he says after a minute, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a hug.

She takes a deep breath, inhaling his scent, cologne and laundry detergent and something else that she can't quite place. She sets her hands on his arms, just below his elbows, when she pulls away, smiling up at him just a little. "I really am going to miss you," she repeats quietly.

He squeezes her hips a little, where his hands are sitting on her body. "Me too."

She stands up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, their lips just barely touching before she pulls away. "Bye."

He doesn't say anything when she walks out of his room, even though he probably should. But this is weird, and he doesn't know what to say.

* * *

><p>Her first night in New York, Dad stays with her. He helps her unpack the majority of her things, offers his opinion on the layout of her few pieces of furniture to maximize her very limited space, and takes her grocery shopping at the store two blocks down. He even installs a fifth lock at the top of her door, high enough that she has to stand on her toes to reach and slide it over.<p>

She can tell, when he glances over at her when he's packing his electric drill back into its case, that they're both thinking the same thing: This was the sort of thing Daddy always did, the little home improvement-type projects. She just kisses his cheek and murmurs a thank you against his skin.

He leaves early in the morning to drive back to Lima, hugs her tight right in the middle of the sidewalk outside the front door of her building before he climbs up into the truck, and then Rachel is finally all on her own in New York like she's always known she's meant to be.

She can't decide if the feeling in her stomach is exhilaration or terror.

She makes sure that her day is so busy that she can't really think about it. She goes to campus to pick up her books for the new semester from the bookstore, timing the trip for future reference. She explores her neighborhood, noting the location of the nearest coffee shops and a laundromat that looks both clean and safe. She must walk a hundred blocks, just soaking in the city that is now - finally, officially - hers.

She stays up late, alphabetizing books and DVDs on their respective shelves and organizing and re-organizing her kitchen cabinets. It doesn't seem to matter that she got up early and walked however many miles through the city; she has so much energy that she knows she'll just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in the dark if she tries to go to bed at a reasonable hour.

She takes a hot bath in an effort to relax herself, but she still can't seem to close her eyes when she finally does lie down to try to go to sleep.

This is where she's supposed to be. She knows that, and it's more than a little bit exciting to finally be here. But that doesn't mean that it feels like she always thought that it should. She was supposed to come here with Kurt and Blaine, and she can't even remember the last she talked to either of them; the only reason she even knows that Kurt is still in the city is through Finn, and for all she knows, Blaine has had an affair with a tall, pale, blonde woman named Svetlana and run away with her to Russia.

Rachel spends more than a few minutes considering that absurd little scenario solely because it amuses her.

She's always known that coming to New York would mean leaving Lima behind forever, really, but before, she always knew that her parents would be there, ready and waiting if she needed them. Dad will still be there for her, of course, and he's done a remarkable job trying to be everything to her that they both were, but it just isn't possible. Daddy was the one who gave her reality checks, who made sure that she was looking at things with her eyes open and without the benefit of rose-colored glasses. She's a little bit afraid of getting caught up in things without him there to remind her to keep her feet on the ground. Now that she's here, that fear is more real.

There was a part of her who thought that Noah could be the one to help keep her grounded, but after what happened, she can't be sure that that's still the case. She let herself get too close, and it isn't fair for her to lean on him like that, to expect him to be there for her.

She's just going to have to take care of herself.

She remembers the last time she spent her first night in a new apartment, when she called Noah because she couldn't sleep, and if she wasn't still so embarrassed about what happened in Dr. Steward's kitchen, she would call him now. She knows he's still in Lima for a few days, and he wouldn't mind the late night call, but she just can't. Every time she thinks about talking to him, she thinks about the way it sounded when he said he didn't want her.

In the end, she just turns over onto her other side, pulling the duvet up around her shoulders and closing her eyes, listening to the sounds of the traffic on the street below her apartment when she falls asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Two things: First, while I ask you to please continue to trust me, I'd love to hear what you think about the latest developments in Puck and Rachel's relationship. Second, a quick reminder that you can keep up with what I'm working on next (or just come chat and look at pretty things) on my Tumblr, which is linked in my profile. Thank you, darlings!


	10. Chapter 10

Coming into her program two years after everyone else, Rachel has to work even harder to prove herself. Fortunately, working hard to show people that she's something special is something she's been practicing for her entire life. She's going to have to take intersession and summer classes to graduate in two years, and the number of course hours she's going to be taking each semester is bordering on insane, but that's just fine. The things that are new and difficult are interspersed with things that come quite naturally, like her private voice lessons, and she took as many of the non-performance related courses as she could while she was at OSU, like music theater history and piano and dance classes (and fortunately, OSU has quite a good dance program, so she doesn't feel like any of those skills are lacking).

It doesn't take her long to prove herself to her professors. Dr. Weaver, her private voice teacher, is easily Rachel's favorite. The woman is obviously impressed with Rachel's talent and her dedication, but she isn't afraid to be critical and push Rachel to work harder and be better, and that's exactly why Rachel loves her. (Dr. Weaver is the sort of teacher Rachel always thought Mr. Schuester could have been if he hadn't been so distracted by whatever was going on in his personal life.)

Generally, the men in her classes seem to like her more than the women. She isn't surprised. At this point in her life, she's aware that she's an attractive woman, even if she isn't traditionally pretty, and she's come to believe men when they express interest. What's more, she isn't the competition, not as far as these guys are concerned.

The fact that she is the competition is why, she thinks, the other girls in her classes are less fond of her. And that makes sense. It must be frustrating to work hard somewhere for two years only to have some new girl show up and make you look inferior (which, if she's being honest, most of them are).

It's not at all a surprise that the first real friend she makes is in a Shakespeare class she's taking because her early modern English literature class didn't transfer from OSU. A lovely brunette girl sits next to Rachel on the first day of class, and when their professor walks into the room in a long skirt printed like the skin of a giraffe with a matching button-down shirt, she mutters, "Sweet Jesus, it's like we're on safari," under her breath. A laugh escapes from the back of Rachel's throat before she can bite down on her tongue and stop it, and the girl glances at her with a little grin on her lips. Rachel spends the entire hour thinking about how much that sounded like something Santana would have said, and beyond missing her friend, she decides that she wants to talk to this girl.

Her name is Christina, and she's a marketing major getting her minor in English, "because everything else irritated me." They exchange phone numbers after class under the guise of having someone to call for notes if they miss a class, but Rachel feels quite sure that they're going to become friends. It's a relief, knowing that she'll have a friend with whom she isn't in competition, someone who isn't secretly hoping that she's going to fall on her face.

* * *

><p>Architecture? It's hard.<p>

Puck spent years avoiding hard work, to the extent that everything he did was half-assed right up until he joined glee club sophomore year and the combination of Rachel fucking Berry and wanting not to look like a complete tool for singing and dancing convinced him that working hard for something could really pay off. Then Coach Beiste showed up and proved that football could get them somewhere if they were willing to put in the effort, so Puck started working hard there, too. And that was about the time, after the juvie thing, that it really hit home that the best way to get the fuck out of Lima was to go to college. Even though he'd always scraped by in school because the shit wasn't really all that difficult, he figured that showing colleges what he could do when he actually did the work was the best way to get in somewhere.

Puck's never going to be the over-achiever at the head of the class, but he refuses to be at the back of the line, to have people think that he isn't good enough or he won't amount to anything again. People in Lima always thought that about him because of his dad, and when he went and knocked Quinn up, he basically proved them right. Except everything he's done in the five years since has been a big _fuck you_ to those people, and he kinda likes it.

His classes are hard as fuck, but he actually really likes them. He never really saw the point of math in high school, because there wasn't one. But now, seeing how the numbers come together to create actual structures...math isn't totally useless. Plus, it turns out that this stuff comes pretty naturally to him, which is awesome, if not entirely unexpected. (He didn't actually skip every math class for the first two years of high school, but he was checked out of most of them and still never failed; math just isn't hard for him.)

And yeah, he's working his ass off to keep his GPA up for grad school (which he'll have to do if he ever wants to get his certification and make real money), but he's still him. He still goes out and drinks and shit, and he meets Anna in October.

He meets her at Finnegan's Wake when he's there with Santana celebrating the end of midterms. He's just standing at the bar, waiting to order more whiskey, when the crowd around him shifts and this little blonde girl practically falls into him, her sharp little elbow catching him hard in the ribs. She snaps something at the dude in front of her, who apparently just stepped all over her feet, then looks up at Puck. He's got one hand at the small of her back, steadying her, he supposes, while the other rubs at the spot on his ribs that's probably going to bruise. "I'm so sorry," she tells him sincerely, looking up at him with eyes that are just about the color of the whiskey he's been drinking all night. "Some people just have no concept of personal space." She says the last bit a little sharply, looking over at the other guy again, before smiling up at Puck.

"'S'fine."

She buys his drink when they finally get up to the bar, and since Santana's found some dude to play darts with, Puck sits with Anna at a table and flirts with her like crazy. She's a senior accounting major, which sounds boring as fuck, but whatever. She's from Tennessee and has just a little bit of an accent, which is fucking cute, and less than an hour after he's met her, she's asking if he wants to come back to her place.

Uh, yeah.

She pulls a blue satin nightgown over her head after, tells him to wait when she slips out of the room. He's still kind of drunk, so Puck just lays there with his eyes closed, and he's half-asleep when she reappears with a glass of water.

"I have absolutely no interest in dating you," she says seriously, sliding her legs beneath the blankets and folding them Indian-style. Puck nearly chokes on the water he's drinking. "I don't have time for a boyfriend, and I don't want one."

He hands her the water glass. "Uh, no offense, but I don't want to be your boyfriend," he tells her with a furrowed brow. If this is her way of telling him to get out, it's kind of stupid, especially since she told him to wait like, five minutes ago.

She smiles a little, setting the glass on her bedside table. "I would, however, be more than happy to have sex with you again."

There it is. Puck smirks, shifting to push her onto her back as he hovers over her. "Now?"

Anna slides her hand around the back of his neck, scratching lightly with her fingernails, her thighs squeezing his hips. "Yes." She pulls back when he leans down to kiss her, keeping out of reach. "And other times."

"Baby, are you asking me to be your fuck buddy?" he asks, sliding one hand up her side to cup her breast through the smooth fabric of her nightgown. He nips at her lips when she nods, plucking at her nipple until she arches her back. "All right."

He sees a lot of her (ha) even though they don't spend any real time together, which makes her the best fuck buddy ever. The only thing she expects from him is orgasms, so, you know. It's almost like a business arrangement, and maybe it's weird, but Puck likes it that way, easy and straightforward.

* * *

><p>Rachel has her first ever one-night stand at the beginning of November.<p>

A bunch of people in her program decide to go out to a club, and Rachel brings Christina along so she'll have an ally in the group. No one asks any questions about Rachel's fake ID (though she is relieved that she'll be twenty-one soon and will be able to throw the thing away), and after a few drinks and lots of dancing, she's feeling sort of wonderful.

She's adjusting the neckline of her top when she comes out of the bathroom, her eyes cast downward so she doesn't see him come out of the men's room before she walks straight into his chest. She apologizes, blinking up at him with wide eyes and running a hand through her hair.

"It's fine." He smiles at her, and the fact that he pauses to look at her combines with that adorable smile to make her offer to buy him a drink _'to make up for my carelessness.'_

She likes that he lets her.

He sort of reminds her of Dominic Cooper, who she's had a crush on since she first saw the film version of _Mama Mia!_, and when he reaches over to set his hand on her thigh over her jeans as she's talking, she decides that it's been much too long since she's had sex, and she's going to let this man - Joshua - change that.

Christina tells her to go for it when she drags the girl with her to the bathroom and tells her the plan.

She starts tugging at his clothes as soon as they're in her apartment, and for the first time since she moved in, she doesn't bother with locking more than the first deadbolt on her door before stepping away from it, pulling Joshua by his belt loops with her.

She comes on his fingers before he even has his jeans off, which is amazing simply on the merit of it not being her own fingers for the first time in nearly a year.

It's ridiculous that she starts to feel apprehensive when he's smoothing a condom down over his length, kneeling between her parted legs and watching her with dark eyes. Ridiculous or not, it's the truth, and he seems to be able to sense it as he moves to hover over her again, his length pressed against where she's wet as he teases at her lips. "You okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine. It's-" She gasps when he rocks his hips against her, his hardness bumping her nerves. "It's been a while," she admits, and he pulls back to look at her. She wraps her arms around his neck to pull him back to her. "Just be nice," she murmurs against his neck.

He starts slowly, giving her a chance to adjust, but she's wound so tightly that it doesn't really take much to push her over the edge, which he seems to like.

It's easier than she expects, having sex with a stranger, and honestly, it's nice to let herself sink into the physical sensations without thinking about anything else. She walks him to the door after he's gotten dressed, tells him it was fun and maybe she'll see him around. She doesn't ask for his number because, frankly, she doesn't want it.

Santana would be so proud.

She's never been the kind of girl who thinks of sex as a means to an end, but sleeping with Joshua doesn't make her feel dirty or cheap or wrong in any way. It isn't the way she wants to conduct herself all the time, certainly, but as a one-time thing? It's not so bad.

* * *

><p>She calls Noah after she's booked her flight back to Ohio for Thanksgiving. It's been more than a couple of weeks since they actually spoke, though they text one another every couple of days, mostly random, inconsequential things that are designed more to stay in touch with one another than to really communicate in a serious way.<p>

Yes, she's still embarrassed, though that's dissipating. She thinks that she'll at least be able to spend time alone with him again when she's back in Lima without feeling awkward, and she's glad. She misses him.

"My mom was just asking about you the other day," Noah says in lieu of a real greeting when he answers.

She smiles, leaning forward to set her laptop on her coffee table before settling back into the couch. "What did you tell her?"

"That you were too busy learning how to be famous to talk to my stupid ass," he answers, grinning at the indignant little noise that she makes. He's actually sort of glad for the interruption; studying gothic architecture isn't the most exciting thing in the world, and reading about these cathedrals is making his eyes cross. "What's up?"

"I just booked my flight back for Thanksgiving."

She gives him a quick rundown of the details, then gets a little quiet. "What is it, Rachel?"

"I miss you," she admits, speaking softly. "I miss talking to you."

Well, she's the one who started avoiding him, but since she knows that, he doesn't remind her. "Me too," he says instead, and that's the truth. There's something about talking to Rachel, to being friends with Rachel, that's different than it is with anyone else.

"Then we're going to change it," she says firmly. If she could push aside the feelings she had for Finn and be his friend, then she can certainly do the same thing with Noah. A silly little unrequited crush and a moment of physical embarrassment aren't reasons enough to end a friendship that means so much to her.

Noah is important enough to her that she's willing to take what she can get.

It's the longest she's ever gone without seeing her father, so she absolutely launches herself at him when he picks her up at the airport late Tuesday night. Honestly, she's so happy to see him that she nearly tears up, though she manages to hold it back. They spend the entire drive back to Lima talking about everything from her role in one of the productions that's going to open at the end of the semester to Rock Hudson's latest strange cat habit (drowning his stuffed toy mice in his water bowl).

She turns on the television when she goes up to her room to get ready for bed, because even though she isn't going to watch it, it seems too quiet. It's absurd, because she's lived in Lima most of her life, and it isn't like the street she lived on in Columbus was loud, but just a few months in New York have gotten her used to a lot more noise at night. She swears it's quiet enough that she can hear the leaves skittering across the porch roof outside her window, which, somehow, become big, fat rats climbing around in the walls, at least in her mind's eye, and then it doesn't matter how tired she is, she isn't going to be able to fall asleep.

She goes downstairs for a glass of water, but walking through the too quiet house isn't any better than being in her too quiet room, and she doesn't even bother getting her drink before going back up to her room.

It seems like it takes forever, but she finally falls asleep halfway through an episode of _Home Improvement_ on TV Land. It's fitful sleep through, and her dreams are filled with rats and cockroaches and muscle cars, a bizarre combination that has her waking before the sun even comes up.

* * *

><p>Rachel calls him on Wednesday afternoon to tell him that she's baking pies and he's welcome to come over and keep her company. He knows she means for it to be an olive branch or whatever the hell metaphor she'd use, and watching Rachel bake is better than watching his mom bake because Rachel isn't going to give him the third degree about...Rachel.<p>

Whatever.

He rings the bell at the Berrys' twice without getting any answer, which is weird since Rachel replied to the text he sent just before he left his house with a little smiley face. He assumes that means she's expecting him, but it's not like he can tell whether or not she's home by her car in the driveway. (It's in the garage, actually, where it's been since she moved and left her car behind. Not helpful.)

He pushes the front door open carefully, and he immediately understands why she isn't answering the doorbell. She's rocking out, blaring something (Paramore, he thinks, which is kind of funny) from the kitchen so loudly that he knows she hasn't heard him open the door and come into the house.

The scream she lets out when she closes the refrigerator door and sees him standing in the kitchen doorway is fucking epic.

She presses a hand to her heart and reaches over to the iPod dock, switching it off completely. "You scared me," she tells him, stating the obvious because she doesn't know what else to say. He smirks, and she takes just a second to look at him. "No shave November?"

She watches him scrub a hand over his beard at his jaw. "My mom fucking hates it," he answers, sounding pretty pleased about it.

Rachel shakes her head, then moves around the center island to stand in front of him. "Hi," she says quietly, looking up at him for a moment before standing on her toes to hug him. She doesn't hate the beard at all, though she doesn't think it's a look she'd like to see on him all the time.

"Hey," he murmurs, and she lets herself sort of sink into his arms. Noah gives wonderful hugs, and with the exception of her father yesterday, it's been a while since she's gotten a good hug. "What are you making?" he asks once he's let her go.

"Apple pie and a cranberry-pear tart," she answers with a smile. "I don't suppose you're interested in peeling fruit?"

He pulls out one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter from where she's been working and sits down. "Nah. You got this."

And just that easy, they're pretty much back to the way they were before everything happened, with Rachel peeling and slicing fruit while he offers her his opinions on Santana's latest conquests. (The girl's dating a guy and a girl at the same time, and Puck has _thoughts_.)

He's sitting on the couch on Thanksgiving, watching the Lions embarrass themselves and feeling smug as fuck about the fact that his Nana Helen has decided to grill Abby this year instead of him when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_My crazy anti-vegan aunt attempted to cook seitan for dinner. Wonders never cease!_

Puck doesn't know what the fuck seitan is, but apparently she's happy about it. He knows Thanksgiving is kind of hard for her, so he's all for anything that's making her smile instead of cry or whatever. They text back and forth a bit, not really talking about anything, and it's nice to be able to do this with her again. Sure, they've texted and whatever since she went to school, but it was always weird and kind of forced. It's kind of awesome to just have his friend back.

* * *

><p>"I cannot stay in this house tonight."<p>

Rachel blinks, even though Noah obviously can't see her face over the phone. "What?"

"My sister is having like, six of her little cheerleader friends over for a slumber party or what the fuck ever, and I cannot stay in this house tonight," he repeats seriously. "These girls are fucking scary."

"Who knew there would ever be a day when Noah Puckerman wasn't excited at the prospect of spending a Friday night in a house full of cheerleaders?" She's teasing him, because honestly.

"Rach, you gotta help me out," he pleads.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

He makes an impatient noise into the phone. For a smart girl, she's taking a while to catch on. "Let me hang out at your place."

"Noah-"

"_Please_."

He sounds so pathetic that she agrees, with the caveat that she gets to choose what they watch. Maybe the fact that he doesn't say anything about how much he hates musicals is evidence of how much he really doesn't want to be around for Abby's sleepover.

He's shaking his head when he walks into her room a little after seven o'clock. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at where she's sitting on her bed in a pair of yoga pants and an NYU sweatshirt. "Are sleepovers always that loud?"

She blinks at him for a second, then realizes that it's a completely serious question. "I wouldn't know," she answers after a moment. "The first time I was ever at a slumber party was our junior year of high school, and it was just me, Mercedes, and Kurt."

Well, fuck.

She can tell he doesn't know what to say to that, but part of what she likes about him so much is that he doesn't try to come up with anything. No, he just toes off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it towards the chair in the corner of her room before flopping down on the bed beside her. "What're we watching?"

She knows he's surprised when she offers _The Godfather_, but it's a classic and the last time she tried to watch it (with her fathers back in high school), she fell asleep before the end. She generally prefers her movies to have a romantic storyline - or even just a significant role for a woman - but she can appreciate the film as the foremost of the mob movie genre.

The thing about watching movies with Rachel is that she doesn't do anything half-assed. If she's planned a movie night, you can be sure that she'll have popcorn and your favorite candy (Puck's is strawberry Twizzlers) and drinks, and she'll dim the lights and even insist that you silence your phone so you aren't interrupted.

It's pretty awesome.

Puck's seen _The Godfather_. Rachel apparently hasn't before, if the way she's acting is any indication. He looks over at her after Sonny Coroleon gets wasted, and she's practically pouting, hugging a throw pillow to her chest and almost glaring at the TV. He nudges her with his shoulder. "What?"

"I liked Sonny," she admits, barely even glancing over at him. "Better than Michael."

"Rach," he laughs, shaking his head. "That's not the point."

She shushes him instead of responding, eyes on the TV, so Puck just lets himself sink a little further into her mountain of pillows.

The first thing she says when the credits roll is, "Well, now I have to watch the other two." She shrugs one shoulder when Noah laughs. "I have to know how it all ends," she insists.

"Sofia Coppola is a shitty actress," he offers, chuckling when she furrows her brow in confusion. "Yeah, you should watch the other two." She turns off the television, setting the remote on her bedside table and sinking back into the pillows a little more. "So, hey. We're okay, right?"

She turns onto her side, tucking one hand under her cheek as she looks at him. "We're okay," she agrees quietly, smiling when he grins down at her.

* * *

><p>The first thing Rachel does on her twenty-first birthday - before she even checks her text messages or starts water for a cup of tea - is remove her fake ID from her wallet. She's sitting in bed with a pair of scissors before she reconsiders actually cutting the thing up, instead slipping it into the back of the journal that she uses to record quotations she likes. The ID is keeping company with an article about New Directions from the Lima newspaper and her collection of wallet-sized senior photos of her friends. She has a couple of fond memories thanks to that illegal piece of laminated paper, and just because she doesn't have an <em>need<em> for it any more doesn't mean that she should destroy it.

She takes a moment to let the nostalgia wash over her, then slides her feet into her pink slippers so they don't freeze on her way to the kitchen for tea.

She goes out with Christina and a handful of her friends that night, first to dinner and then to a club in SoHo. She likes Christina a lot, and the girl has hilarious friends who treat Rachel like they've known her forever from the moment they meet. She misses her own friends, but it doesn't stop her from having fun. She "makes friends" (flirts shamelessly and leans over the bar to show her cleavage like she knows Santana would) with one of the bartenders, whose name is Aaron, and between him and Christina, she doesn't pay for a single drink.

She does, however, get completely drunk.

She's sipping from the glass of water that Aaron gave her (_'trust me, sweetheart, you don't need any more rum'_) perched on a bar stool when "Don't Stop Believin'" starts playing. Truthfully, it's hard to go out anywhere without hearing a song that she's performed with the glee club, but this one is special.

Puck's sitting with Santana in the kitchen when he gets the text from Rachel. He just picked his roommate up from a bar; he's still nursing a bit of a hangover from last night, the kind that makes you swear never to drink again even though you know that you'll be killing brain cells within a week. He's waiting for the nachos that Santana promised him in exchange for a ride after she got into a fight with her flavor of the week (Lizzie, this time; last week was Derek).

_"dont stop believinf! I miss you guys so much!a_

Santana must get the same message, because she snorts out a laugh from where she's standing next to the microwave. "Am I this hilarious when I'm drunk?" she asks when she sees that he's looking at his phone too.

"No," he answers honestly, making her stick her tongue out. Seriously though, Santana's mood when she drinks is almost totally dependent upon _what_ she drinks, more than anyone else he's ever known. Vodka makes her weepy, gin and tequila make her horny, whiskey makes her fucking mean. Beer and wine both just sort of amp up whatever she'd be like normally, but it she won't stop drinking liquor no matter how many times Puck tells her it makes her crazy.

_call me when you get home so I know you're alive_

Everyone (Finn, Sam, Santana, and Noah) responds to her mass text, and even though she misses them so much that she can barely stand it, that they all care enough to reply to her is better than any material gift they could have given her.

It might even be better than the Burberry trench coat that Dad sent her as a combination birthday/Hanukkah gift.

Christina offers to stay with Rachel for the night, but Rachel declines. She has a bag of PopChips and bottles of Vitamin Water in her kitchen, and then she's going to take two asprin and watch _Clueless_ until she falls asleep.

She waits just until she's in the elevator, riding up to her floor, to call Noah. "I'm drunk," she announces when he answers. "Legally drunk. For the first time."

He snorts out a laugh, which makes her smile as she walks down the hall to her apartment. "You make it home all right, lush?"

"I am unlocking my door now," she answers, fumbling a bit with her keys. If there's anything bad about living in New York, it's how long it takes to unlock her stupid door.

Puck listens to the noises on her end of the call and waits until it sounds like she's actually inside her place to say anything else. "Good birthday?" he finally asks.

Rachel shrugs, dropping her keys on the little table just inside her front door and peeling off her coat. "It was pretty good," she says when she realizes that he can't hear her shoulders moving however many hundreds of miles away. "I heard 'Don't Stop Believin' and it made me miss you guys."

Maybe it's a little lame, but Puck can't hear that song without thinking about glee club either. (Though, if he's being really honest, "Somebody to Love" has a lot better memories; at least they won a competition with that song, and Queen is way more badass than Journey.) "You just saw me like, three weeks ago," he reminds her.

She kicks her heels off in the direction of her closet when she walks into her room. "It's not the same." She unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down off her hips, then realizes that she can't really take off her shirt while she's holding the phone. "Hold on a sec." She sets it on her bedside table and goes about changing her clothes.

Rachel's pretty hilarious when she drinks, and unlike Santana, she doesn't have multiple personality disorder based on what she drinks. Everything makes her happy and smiley and cuddly, and it turns out that it's almost as good over the phone as it is in person.

She flops back onto the bed once she's changed into her pajamas, just leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed. She knows she should eat something, or drink some water at the very least, but her feet hurt and she's really tired, so she just pushes herself up against her pillows, moving around until she's under the covers. "What is it about drinking that makes you tired all of a sudden?" she asks Noah once she's remembered that he's sitting there waiting for her. This seems like the sort of thing she should know, and if he doesn't, she's going to have to google it.

"Fuck if I know." She makes an impatient noise, but it sounds sort of sleepy, too. "Baby, you need to drink some water or you're going to feel like shit tomorrow."

"I haven't been this drunk in years," she says, ignoring him, mostly because she's pretty sure she's going to feel terrible tomorrow regardless of what she does tonight. She planned for it, actually, and has all of tomorrow free to lie on the couch and recover. "The last time I was this drunk, I was with you," she realizes. She reaches over to turn off the lamp on her bedside table - when did she turn it on? - because she knows she isn't getting up again.

"When was that?"

"That Thanksgiving. Freshman year," she clarifies. "There was wine."

"I remember." She was upset about her dad, and maybe getting her drunk wasn't the best way to deal with it, but it was the best Puck knew. Fuck, he'd probably do the same thing today.

"I was going to watch _Clueless_," she says suddenly, pouting into the dark room.

"You should probably just go to sleep."

"All right," she agrees easily. He likes that she isn't all fighty like Santana gets sometimes. "Good night, Noah."

She does feel terrible when she wakes up the next morning, dehydrated and queasy, and her head is pounding. She lies on her couch and watches _Clueless_, nibbling Wheat Thins and sipping Vitamin Water. When Noah texts and asks her how she's feeling, she lies and tells him she's great.

The _yeah, right_ he sends back just makes her smile.

* * *

><p>When a few of the girls from her program - Charlotte, Alexis, and Maggie, who is her only true competition here - invite Rachel along to see a dance exhibition in Brooklyn in early January, she's excited to go. It's a handful of dance crews doing interesting things with various styles of hip hop, which is a nice change of pace from all of the very traditional performances she's attended since coming to New York.<p>

She nearly falls out of her chair when she sees Mike Chang on the stage. Literally, she has to grab onto Charlotte's arm to keep herself upright. The girl glares until Rachel hisses that she knows one of the dancers. "The Asian one," she says when prompted.

There are two more groups left to perform after Mike's, but Rachel slips out of her seat and heads to the doorway that leads backstage, putting on her best _'of course I'm supposed to be here'_ face in hopes of avoiding being kicked out of the club all together. (And if she'd known she was going to be sneaking backstage at a hip hop show, she would have at least worn Converse sneakers instead of her pewter, crystal-embellished ballet flats.)

He spots her before she can find him, which isn't at all the way these things are supposed to go, but he's saying her name and pulling her into a hug before she can let herself get too disappointed about that. He keeps his hands on her upper arms after she's pulled away, keeping her close. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Watching you be amazing," she answers, and it isn't pandering. Mike was always an excellent dancer, but seeing him like this is something different. He's grown as a dancer in the years since she saw him last, has obviously expanded his skill set.

She thinks he's gotten more handsome, too.

She doesn't even hesitate to say yes when he asks if she wants to go somewhere to get a drink and catch up. She hisses a quick explanation at Charlotte when she goes back to her seat to get her bag and her coat, ignoring the dirty looks she's getting from Maggie, and slips out the back door of the venue into a creepy alleyway that makes her grateful that she's with Mike and not by herself.

Mike holds her hand in his as they walk down the street, and they duck into the first bar they come to. It's an absolute hole in the wall, and the bartender looks like he hasn't smiled since Clinton was president, but the glass he makes her gin and tonic in is clean, and he's heavy-handed with the gin, which makes the place at least passable.

Rachel crosses her legs when they sit at a table at a little table (clean, despite her intial worries), takes a little sip of her drink, and looks at Mike seriously. "Tell me everything that's happened in the last two years," she insists, and she means it. The last she heard from him - beyond seeing his Facebook updates, which are sporadic, at best - was the summer after freshman year. She's always liked Mike, and now that she's found him again in New York, this city where she's basically all alone...

Well, she wants to know everything.

Mike just takes a sip of his beer and grins, his eyes sparkling a little when he starts talking.

His parents had wanted him to be an accountant, which was all well and good except for the fact that Mike hates math and thinking about money. He wanted to dance, so he chose NYU instead of OSU or Kentucky, like his parents wanted, because he knew he'd have a better chance of finding opportunities to do what he really wanted in New York than he would in Columbus or Lexington. He found his dance crew in February of his sophomore year, got hired to dance in some Disney-style pop princess' video in April, and didn't bother registering for the fall semester.

"I've been doing the dance thing ever since," he tells her simply before taking a sip of his beer.

"That's amazing," Rachel says, and she means it. And yes, she's jealous. She wishes that she'd been able to follow her dreams from the beginning.

(She catches herself thinking this sometimes, resenting her daddy for getting sick, and then she hates herself for feeling that way. This time, it makes her suck back a good third of her gin and tonic in one drink.)

He listens intently as she talks about coming to New York, and even though her story is far less exciting than his, he doesn't seem to think that anything about it is mundane. Instead, he agrees that Maggie sounds like a bitch and asks more about the production of _Cabaret_ they're putting on in the spring that she intends to audition for. (He also agrees that it'll probably go better than the last time she tried to do this particular play.)

They spend a good bit of time discussing their mutual friends. Mike has kept in touch with Brittany over the years, and he tells Rachel that the girl is working in Los Angeles as a dancer and is planning to audition for _So You Think You Can Dance_ in the spring unless she's hired to dance on a tour. She's really the only person that he's kept in touch with, though his mother is friends with Tina's parents and has told him that the girl is spending a year in the Czech Republic teaching English. Rachel catches him up on what the others are doing back in Columbus, and she wonders, not for the first time, what the hell happened to Quinn. She doesn't talk to them, but Rachel knows that Artie went to school in Boston, Mercedes is in Cleveland, and Kurt is somewhere in New York. She culled all of this information from Facebook, but other than the fact that she was planning on cheering at the University of Kentucky, Rachel has no idea what happened to Quinn.

Not that it matters.

Rachel is shaking her head over Mike's brother's story about the slushying that she's still going on at McKinley when the bartender comes over to tell them that he's closing in ten minutes, "So you better knock that back," gesturing at Rachel's half-full drink.

She finishes her drink quickly and looks across the table at Mike. "What do you think are my chances of catching a cab back into Manhattan?" Normally she would take the subway, but it's after two a.m. She's independent, not stupid.

"Stay with me," Mike suggests, shaking his head when she arches an eyebrow. "It's not like, a proposition, Rachel. It's just practical."

She goes back to the loft that he shares with two of the guys from his dance crew, a place that is obviously inhabited by twenty-something-year-old boys. Mike's room is tidy though, his bed made neatly and all of his laundry in its proper place. She looks at the framed photographs he has on his wall while he pulls open the drawers on his dresser, black and white sillhouettes of trees in winter, and when she turns around, he's handing her a black tee shirt and a pair of blue shorts with a drawstring and telling her that the bathroom is right across the hall.

There's something interesting about Mike, that he gives her the clothes without even asking and she catches herself smiling at her reflection in the bathroom mirror once she's changed. He's always been such a gentleman.

The next morning, Rachel sits at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, drinking coffee and talking with Mike and his roommate Tadd in the jeans and wrap sweater she wore the night before, and she makes plans to meet up with them in a few days for a night out.

She's smiling on the train ride back into Manhattan.


	11. Chapter 11

Puck and Anna sort of start dating on accident.

Her roommate, Katie, starts dating this guy who is apparently a complete ass, and Anna's in this weird living situation where she's living and paying rent in the house, but Katie's parents actually own it, and they don't have a lease agreement.

She just glares when Puck points out that it probably wasn't a great idea to move into someone else's house without some sort of legal agreement, which makes him hold up his hands in surrender.

(And later, he's not sure whether that shit is something he picked up from Rachel or Santana. It sounds like something either of them would say.)

She comes over to the house one afternoon after she walked into her place and found Katie and her boyfriend going at it on the living room couch. She's all quiet when she walks into Puck's room and asks, "Do you mind if I hang out here tonight?"

"What are you gonna do for me, baby?" He's totally kidding, but she comes over to where he's sitting in his desk chair, gets on her knees between his legs, and starts unbuckling his belt, and it's not like he's going to stop her.

"You didn't have to do that," he tells her after, once he's caught his breath and she's sitting on his bed watching him, one leg crossed over the other.

"I know," she says, smiling and pulling a textbook out of her messenger bag.

He doesn't really think anything of it. He and Anna are sort of becoming friends, but really, for most of the time that they've known each other, it's just been sex. He knows some basics about her, and she knows some shit about him, but it's not like they're hanging out or having girly heart-to-hearts.

But then she is spending more time at the house, even if it's mostly just them sharing space while they do their own thing. Anna's actually really good at that. She doesn't ask for much beyond orgasms, which they're both after, so, you know. It only takes a couple of weeks for Puck to get used to having her around, studying and watching hockey games or whatever, and one night she even makes this fucking delicious meat thing that's baked with mashed potatoes on top that makes Santana ask if she's ever considered batting for the other team.

The coy little smile she gives Santana means that Puck has to get her naked basically immediately. But whatever.

Anna isn't asking anything of Puck, isn't expecting him to be places or to do things, even though they are doing things in public besides meeting up at the same bar and having a drink or two together before they go and get naked. Santana points out that they're basically dating one morning after Anna drinks coffee with him before heading off to class.

He just shrugs, partially because it isn't a big deal, but mostly because it's too early for conversations of any kind.

She shows up at the door totally unannounced on a Saturday afternoon with tears in her eyes, which Puck has never seen.

"It's really stupid," she says when he ushers her into the living room. "Katie and the boyfriend have decided that they don't like the carpeting in our house, so they're pulling it up." Puck blinks. "Exactly. There's dust and nails and staples and shit everywhere. I can't even walk barefoot in my own house."

It's only mostly stupid, so Puck just says, "You can hang out barefoot here if you want."

That's when Anna starts sleeping at the house when she's sober instead of just after a night out, and Puck finally admits to Santana that they're dating or whatever. It really isn't a big deal.

* * *

><p>Mike introduces Rachel to an entirely different art scene than she's used to, and she loves it. She's involved in <em>Cabaret<em>, though the lead goes to one of the seniors who's graduating in May, and she's busier than she's ever been, taking nineteen hours and working on the musical and even going to a weekly ballet class just to keep herself fresh, but Mike calls her up pretty regularly and insists that she take little breaks. He takes her to a krump show once, and then to a friend's found art exhibit at this little gallery in Brooklyn.

After just a few weeks, his loft becomes something of an escape. Nothing here is like her frenetic 'real' life. Tadd and Mark, Mike's roommates, are both hilarious, and she never feels like she's imposing when she spends time here. It's easy. Comfortable.

They're hanging out at the loft on a Friday afternoon, sitting on the couch, watching _Singing in the Rain_ and ignoring Tadd's teasing, even if it is a little silly to watch the movie just because it's raining outside. Rachel looks at Mike with raised eyebrows when his phone buzzes on the coffee table; she has rules about phones and movies, and he knows them. He leans down to kiss her temple when he grabs it and heads down the hall into his own room to answer.

He reappears a few moments later with wide eyes. "I just got hired to do a Jason Derulo video."

"When did you audition for a music video?" she asks. It's the wrong thing to say, but it's the first thing that comes to mind.

"Tuesday," he answers simply, and she must get an indignant look on her face, because he grins a little. "I didn't want to jinx it by telling you."

It hits her all at once that she isn't reacting properly at all, being all caught up in the inconsequential details, so she leaps up off the couch and launches herself into Mike's arms with a little squeal. Her lips are against his ear when she murmurs, "That's amazing." She means it.

"We have to celebrate," she insists once he's set her back on her feet, and Tadd agrees and starts making calls to their friends.

They decide to go out to a pub that's just a few blocks away, and while Rachel would like to go home and change into something other than the tee shirt she threw on this morning for class, she's not going to go all the way back into Manhattan just to change her clothes. She layers two of Mike's white undershirts (to keep from wearing something completely transparent) with her own long black cardigan, then twists her hair up into a knot and applies some lip gloss. It isn't much, but she isn't trying too hard to impress anyone in this group, and besides that, this evening is about her. It's about Mike.

A bunch of the guys from Mike's crew meet them at this place. It's early in the evening, so they're really the only ones there, but no one seems to mind. People keep pushing drinks into Rachel's hand (mostly Mike), and at first she feels guilty for drinking without paying. Then, as she gets a little tipsier, she starts thinking all of these boys - whoever is paying - are just wonderful for taking care of her like this.

Then she's drunk and she forgets to think about it at all.

She's standing at the bar getting a much-needed glass of water when Mike walks up behind her, winding his arm around her waist until his hand is flat on her stomach. She looks over her shoulder and smiles up at him as he pulls her back against his chest. "Hi," she giggles.

"Hey," he answers. His thumb is tracing back and forth just beneath her breasts. "You wanna get out of here?"

"But it's your party," she protests.

"'S'not a party."

"You know what I mean." She sets her water glass on the bar and turns to look up at him. It presses his hand flat to the small of her back, keeping their bodies close. His eyes are dark on hers, and so intent that it makes her breath catch a little in her throat. "Mike."

He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are on her lips as he leans down, so she knows that he's going to kiss her.

It's just the barest brush of his lips against hers. "Mike," she repeats, whispering, her fingers curling into his tee shirt at his side. He lets out a breath, then slants his mouth over hers, kissing her in earnest and making something warm coil in her stomach.

It's still raining when they leave the bar. Mike holds her hand as they run the however many blocks, and when they get back to his building, her shoes are so saturated that they squish with each step she takes. He drags her into the bathroom so they're dripping on the tile floor instead of the hardwood. Rachel pushes her jeans down off her hips immediately, because few things are more uncomfortable than wet jeans, then she leans over the edge of the bathtub, pulling her hair over one shoulder and twisting the strands to squeeze out as much of the moisture as she can.

Mike's eyes are on her legs when she turns around, peeling her cardigan off her arms. He takes a step towards her, tossing his tee shirt in the direction of the bathtub. It draws her eyes down to his abs, which are even more defined than they were in high school, something she didn't think was possible. He lays his hands on her hips, pushing up a little at her wet tank top. She watches his eyes for a moment, then lifts her arms over her head, like an invitation. He pulls her shirt off, letting it fall to the floor with a wet sound.

His hands are hot against her damp skin, practically burning a trail over her collarbone and the side of her neck when he pushes her wet hair back off her shoulders, then traces the tips of his fingers down her sides until his hands are sitting on her hips.

"I'm really proud of you," she tells him, her eyes watching her palm slide down the middle of his abdomen to sit just above his belt. It's strange time to say it, maybe, but that doesn't make it any less true.

"Rachel," he chuckles, his fingertips digging into her skin a little.

"Take of your pants." She bites her lip when his eyes go wide. "They're wet. You'll catch a cold."

"You're still wearing wet clothes," he points out when he's unbuckling his belt.

She can tell he's surprised when she calls his bluff and reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, but then he's kissing her before she can say anything about it, pressing her back into the bathroom wall while he kicks off his jeans.

Sex with Mike is fun.

With the exception of her first time, which wasn't much fun at all, Rachel doesn't think she's ever had sex that she wouldn't describe as fun on some level, even if it's only because anything that feels that good is fun. But there isn't that heaviness, the weight of being _in love_ with Mike and having the sex _mean_ something, but she knows him. There's a familiarity between them that makes it easier.

He's flexible, and he understands just how flexible she is, so he does things to her body that she didn't even know were possible, murmuring a quiet, '_trust me_' before positioning her body how he wants it. (He's right.) His hands never stop moving, his palms sliding up her thighs and over her back, his fingertips digging into her hips so he can move her the way he likes. He chuckles a little when the way he snaps his hips against hers makes her squeak his name, but she knows that he isn't laughing at her, and he pushes her over the edge just moments later.

"We should do this again."

Rachel turns her head to look over at him. He's brushing his fingertips up and down the inside of her arm and grinning. It's adorable. "Should we?"

He nods. "We're good together," he says, like she needs reminding.

"We are." His fingers circle her wrist, and he tugs gently until she's pressed against his side. "So we'll do it again," she murmurs just before he kisses her.

* * *

><p>Puck doesn't know if everyone is aware, but Rachel Berry is really fucking random.<p>

"Remember when I told you about the ducks in Central Park?"

That's what she says when he answers his phone. He only has so much time to finish his grocery shopping and get the shit back to the house before he has to go back to campus for a lecture, so answering probably wasn't the best idea. And no, he doesn't remember the ducks at all, but she'll hate it if he says that, so he just makes a noncommittal noise into the phone and grabs a giant bag of Doritos from the shelf.

"I just went to visit them!"

"That's great."

"You sound distracted. What are you doing?"

"Groceries," Noah answers, and it makes her smile.

She's perfectly aware that he doesn't care about the ducks, but she does, and he's willing to let her talk about them just a little bit before changing the subject. They call one another pretty regularly, and most of what they talk about is inconsequential like this. And she isn't the only offender. Noah calls her to talk about sports far more often than is strictly necessary.

Puck doesn't know how long he lets her go on about these fucking ducks and the little babies with their fluffy little feathers and whatever the hell else, but he manages to make it from the aisle with coffee and cereal all the way up to frozen foods before she stops. He's not sure if it's more impressive that she talked about ducks for that long, or that he was actually half-listening the whole time.

"So, hey," he finally interrupts. "Did you call to talk about something besides birds that float?"

Rachel wanders into her bedroom and smiles when she spots the tee shirt Mike left when he was over last night. (Or the shirt that she pulled on to sleep in after they slept together.) "Just checking in," she tells Noah. "We hadn't talked in a few days."

Puck grins into the freezer case when he opens the door to get a package of pizza rolls. (He and Santana both crave them when they're drunk, so they don't usually keep them in the house, but fuck it.) "You know, as much as I'd like to hear all about the family of squirrels you're feeding walnuts in Bryant Park or whatever, I have like, ten minutes to get oranges for Santana and get the fuck out of here or I'm going to be late to class, so," he trails.

"Of course. We'll talk soon?"

"Yeah. Later, Rach."

* * *

><p>Anna's Thursday night class is cancelled, so Puck picks her up from her house to take her to this Mexican restaurant they're both sort of obsessed with, a place that makes the best chile rellenos Puck's ever had. Katie, Anna's roommate, is just sitting on the couch in the living room with her boyfriend when Anna lets Puck in. Nothing seems to have changed in the last month or so; there are these huge, waterlogged piles of carpeting out beside the driveway, and Puck spots half a dozen nails on the floor just walking down the hallway to Anna's room.<p>

Katie is a fucking bitch, and Anna needs to just move the fuck out. She just shakes her head when he tells her that, glancing over at him while she clasps a bracelet on her wrist. "You know the deal. As soon as I graduate, I'm going to Cleveland."

Puck just nods and tells her that she's staying with him tonight, leaning back in her desk chair when she starts tossing things into a bag to take to his place. The fact that Anna's moving in a couple of months is probably why he's okay with the whole dating thing. They both know what this is and exactly how long it's going to last, and that's a good thing.

They're both really disappointed when they get to the restaurant and realize that it's closed, a sign propped up in the front window announcing that the owners are taking a week for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. It doesn't even qualify as a substitute, but they go through the Taco Bell drive-thru before heading back to his house.

Puck drops the bag of food when he opens the door and hears Santana moaning Finn's name.

Anna gasps from behind him, because Santana and Finn are right there on the couch - the couch where Puck sits - completely naked and going at it.

He's muttering curses under his breath when he turns around, pushing a laughing Anna back out the door and towards the driveway. He knows that Finn and Santana had a thing that went on a couple of years ago, but it was never a _thing_ and he never had to _see_ it. And sure, he and Finn have shared a locker room, so Puck's seen him naked, and he's seen every bit of Santana, but it's totally different, seeing your two best friends having sex.

He and Anna end up sitting in his car in the parking lot of the bank down the street eating their food, then they go to some bookstore she likes for an hour or so to give Santana and Finn plenty of time to get a fucking room.

He doesn't get a chance to talk to Santana until Saturday afternoon. He's sitting at the table eating cereal when she comes in carrying a Starbucks cup with her hair up and her sunglasses on. "What?" she asks when she notices him looking at her.

"Finn?"

She flops down into the chair across from his with a sigh, pulling off her sunglasses. "It's not a big deal," she insists, rolling her eyes a little. "We're both too busy for it to be a big deal." He looks at her skeptically. "Jesus, what, Puck?"

"What about Rachel?" he asks, because that's all he's been thinking about since he managed to move beyond the shock of Finn's naked ass and Santana moaning. Puck spent so many years listening to both of them - Finn and Rachel - going on about meant to be and destiny and fate and whatever, that he can't help thinking about how she fits into all of this.

"'You're an idiot," Santana says flatly. "They haven't been together for real in years, and the last time they broke up was like, a year and a half ago." She stands up and shoves her chair forward under the table. "Besides, she's in New York fucking Mike Chang. Pretty sure the midget doesn't care that Finn and I are going at it again."

She stalks out of the room, leaving Puck with his second mindfuck of the week. Rachel's fucking Mike Chang? She told him that she ran into Chang and they've been hanging out, but she hasn't mentioned anything about fucking him. It's weird, because the girl tells him about everything, or at least he thought she did. He knows that this Maggie chick is her only rival in their program, and even though she plays it off, Puck knows that she's actually a little worried that this girl is better than she is. (He's pretty sure she isn't.) He knows that her neighbor across the hall travels a lot and has a cat that Rachel sometimes checks on for the guy. Jesus, he knows that Mike's roommates' names are Tadd and Mark because Rachel told him.

But she's fucking Mike Chang and didn't say anything?

He resists the urge to call her and ask what the hell is going on. They have a totally unspoken thing going on where they take turns calling each other, and it's her turn. If he calls her, she's going to know that's something's up, and he doesn't want to make this into a big deal.

(It doesn't even occur to him that Santana might be lying. She's a bitch, but she only lies when she gets something out of it, and this just doesn't fit.)

She calls him on Sunday evening, babbling something about her repertoire class and soy lattes, and he makes it four minutes before he interrupts.

"So, you're fucking Mike Chang?"

Rachel pauses in the middle of the sentence that he talked over (something about Holsteins). "Well, I wouldn't put it that way, since you're vulgar and abrupt, and it isn't any of your business, not really, but yes, Mike and I are sleeping together."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because it isn't any of your business," she repeats. She doesn't even know how he found out - Santana, probably - but she can't imagine why he'd care.

"So, what, now you're in love with Chang?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What-no. What is wrong with you?"

Puck tips his phone away from his mouth and blows out a breath. What the fuck _is_ wrong with him? She's right; it isn't any of his business who she's fucking, and it's not like he's told her everything (anything) about Anna. They don't talk about shit like that. Except he thought that it was just that he didn't talk about it, but Rachel did. "I guess I just thought you'd tell me if you were dating someone or whatever," he finally answers.

Rachel pulls her legs up onto the couch where she's sitting and smiles. "We aren't serious," she says after a moment. "We're friends and...more," she says, struggling a little for the right word to explain it, "but we aren't falling in love or anything dramatic."

He snorts out a laugh. "You mean Rachel Berry is doing something that isn't dramatic?" he asks, sarcastic again, but less mean-sounding this time. "Wonders never cease!"

"Stop it."

* * *

><p>This year, Rachel is prepared when the day rolls around, the anniversary of Daddy's death. Time does make a difference, even though she thinks about him every day, and sometimes she misses him so much it hurts to breathe. She think that the distance, being in New York instead of Ohio, has made a difference, too. And besides all that, she just doesn't have time for another breakdown. She has a rehearsal for the musical that afternoon, and she's up early to work on a project for her Performing Arts in Western Civilization class.<p>

She calls Dad first thing, partially to get it out of the way, but mostly because she woke up thinking about him. She hasn't been home since Thanksgiving, which is the longest she's ever been away, and she doesn't know when she's going to have another chance to get back since she's taking summer courses and considering getting a job to pad her bank account a little. She misses him more than she can explain, and if she doesn't call him often enough, it's because talking to him actually makes her miss him more.

Rehearsal goes straight through dinner, and while she'd normally be ravenous by the time they finished, she barely notices that she hasn't eaten. She spreads some hummus on a whole wheat tortilla when she gets home, carries it to her bedroom on a paper towel with a glass of cran-apple juice, and crawls into bed after she's wriggled out of her jeans.

She takes exactly one bite before she's reaching for her phone where she left it on her bedside table and scrolling through her contact list for Noah's number.

Puck's fiddling with the numbers in a computer model when his phone rings, and even though he isn't surprised to see Rachel's name on the display, he didn't exactly expect it either. "Hey," he answers quietly, pushing his chair back from his desk a bit.

Of course he remembers what today is. He was with her when it happened, was there for her last year. She lets out a little breath. "I miss everyone today."

Jesus. "Rach."

"It's not like last year," she says quickly. "I went to class and rehearsal and everything. But I miss my dad, and I'll miss Daddy forever, and today I really, really miss you and Santana and Sam and Finn, and I may never have time to come home even for a weekend, and it's just really getting me down."

She's talking really fast, and he can hear that _about to cry_ thing in her voice. It sucks, and he doesn't know what the hell to do about it when he's here and she's there.

She speaks again before he can figure out something to say to her. "I'm just emotional."

"Makes sense," he says neutrally. "But hey, I bet you can convince Santana to come see you this summer. Or maybe I'll come and make you show me around."

"I'd like that."

They talk about nothing for a while, and she feels better after she's hung up, enough better that she finishes her paltry dinner while she watches her favorite episode of _The Office_ on Netflix on her laptop.

(It's the one when Jim and Pam first kiss, because as bittersweet as it is, she likes that they struggled for their relationship as much as she likes them together later on.)

* * *

><p>Rachel sits on the couch in Mike's loft to watch the Jason Derulo video he danced in when it's uploaded to YouTube, the video streaming to the television the way Mark set it up. Mike is highlighted throughout, and while it's mostly Derulo with three or four guys behind him, there's one bit that's just him and Mike. It's excellent, and Rachel tells him that before they go into his room and lock the door so she can show him just how proud she is.<p>

So it isn't really a surprise when, just a week after the video premieres on MTV, he's asked to be one of the dancers on Derulo's first headlining tour.

"It's like, most of the summer," he tells Rachel when he's sitting up in her bed talking about it. "It's all over the country and in Canada, and apparently they're planning a European tour for next year that, like..." He trails off, looking over at her with wide eyes. "This is the most important job I've ever gotten, Rach."

"I know," she says seriously. She does, and it's adorable, how excited he is. "You deserve it, and I'm so proud of you."

He grins, and this little glimmer comes into his eyes. He moves so he's lying on top of her and kisses her gently. "I really like the way that sounds," he admits against her lips. She goes a little soft inside for him; his parents are proud of him on some level, she knows, but this isn't at all the life they pictured for him. Most of the conversations he has with them are of the _'you should have been an accountant instead of dancing around for attention'_ variety, and she knows that it bothers him.

Being supported as an artist is important, and Rachel truly believes that Mike is exceptional at what he does. She likes to tell him as often as she can.

Later, when he's sleeping beside her and she's waiting to doze off, it occurs to her that if he's going to be gone for most of the summer, this casual thing they've been doing is probably going to end. He isn't her boyfriend, and she certainly loves him, but she isn't in love with him. It's absurd to think that they could go from not being in a relationship at all to trying to be in a long-distance relationship when he's on tour with some rock star.

It makes her a little sad, but thinking about it doesn't break her heart. She thinks their friendship will survive, and she thinks that's more important than the other stuff anyhow. She decides to just enjoy him while she has him and let what's going to happen, happen.

It's such a far cry from the obsessive girl that she was just five years ago that she falls asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p>When one of Puck's professors told him about an internship at an architecture firm in New York City, he didn't really think that he had a chance in hell at getting it. It isn't the most prestigious thing ever (though they do exactly the kind of stuff he thinks he wants to do), but that doesn't mean that there aren't a ton of people applying for it, people who have known forever that they wanted to be architects and didn't spend their first two years of college basically fucking around.<p>

He's actually forgotten all about it when he gets the letter in the mail, which makes it kind of an awesome surprise, and at first, he's pretty excited. Except he never seriously considered the chance that he'd get the job, so now he has to figure out where he's going to live for six week in New York City when he's working an unpaid internship.

He knows two people in the city, both of whom he thinks would be willing to deal with his ass for a while without hating him. Rachel (and Facebook) told him about the tour thing Chang's doing, so Puck calls him first. He gets it in his head that he can stay at Mike's place while he's gone and like, pay rent to his roommates or whatever.

"Dude," Mike says before Puck even gets a chance to run down his 'plan.' "If I'd known you were going to be here this summer, I wouldn't have sublet my room and you could've stayed here for free."

Well, fuck.

Chang's already found some guy to live in his room and pay rent while he's gone, and yeah, Mike's a really good friend, but he's also a really good guy, and he isn't going to go back on his word with someone else.

He doesn't exactly _want_ to ask Rachel, partially because he doesn't know if they could actually live together without making one another crazy and ending up hating each other, and partially because sleeping on a couch or an air mattress for six weeks isn't the most appealing idea in the world.

He spends like, hours online, looking at place that people are subletting and trying to figure out where they are in the city in relation to the firm he's going to be working at and whether or not he can even afford this shit with what he's got in his bank account now. Real estate in this city is fucking ridiculous. Like, staying in a shitty little studio (which is fine) for six weeks is going to cost more than double what he and Santana pay each month for their two-bedroom house with a garage and a yard. He already knows that Santana's going to have to cover their rent for the summer while he's gone (they talked about it, and even though she bitched for a good twenty minutes about how it's going to cut into her disposable income, he knows that spending her dad's money is a non-issue), but he's kind of hoping to be able to actually pay rent when he gets back to Columbus, and that isn't going to be possible if he stays at any of these places.

Plus, the one that's sort of in his price range looks like it's in the shittiest neighborhood in ever, and his mom will lose her fucking mind if she finds out he's staying here. He likes to not worry her half to death, especially since he spent a good portion of high school doing just that.

It's really fucking annoying that when he finally decides to give up and call Rachel to talk to her about maybe crashing on her couch (fuck) for six weeks (_fuck_), he gets her goddamn voice mail.

It's almost eleven that night when she calls him back, and she sounds tired when he answers.

"The show opens in three days," she explains when he mentions it. "Rehearsals are a little intense right now. But how are you?"

"I got an internship in New York this summer," he says instead of answering her question. Or maybe that is the answer to her question.

"Noah, that's amazing!" she exclaims. She finishes unlocking her door and pushes her way into her apartment, dropping her things just inside the door. She's really, really tired, and the thought of dragging them even a little further is not appealing. All that appeals, really, is going into her room and falling into bed. "When are you going to be here?"

"It's six weeks, from the end of June to the beginning of August at a firm that specializes in designing like, mansions and shit for people out in the Hamptons or wherever," he answers, heading off her next question. He knows her, okay? "I kind of don't have anywhere to live though.

"You'll stay with me," she says simply, and he kind of loves Rachel for shit like that. Just saying that he'll stay with her without even pausing to think about it, like it isn't even a question. It's just a given that he's going to stay with her if he doesn't have anywhere else to stay, at least in her head.

"Thanks, Rach."

"Of course." She isn't going to let him turn down this opportunity over housing - which she knows he would do - and even if she doesn't love the idea of living with anyone else right now, given that she never has, she can adjust. It's only a few weeks. And frankly, she's so tired right now that she'd possibly agree to anything. "Noah, I really, really want to hear all about this, but I'm practically asleep on my feet," she tells him neutrally. "Can we talk about this in two weeks when the musical is over?"

He doesn't really have that many details yet anyhow, so he just says, "Yeah. Get some sleep."

She lets out a little hum. "Good night, Noah."

* * *

><p>Puck spends the last couple of weeks of school studying his ass off and having loud, obnoxious sex with Anna at her house to piss off her roommate as much as they can before she moves out after finals.<p>

It's equal parts fucking awesome and fucking bullshit, but whatever.

And look, he likes Anna, but he doesn't think he's going to miss her once she moves to Cleveland, and he knows the feeling is mutual. It's actually kind of nice to have this thing ending so easily, especially after the way things ended with Mia, who started out the same way Anna did.

The night before graduation - which is also the night before she's moving - she calls Puck and asks him to come over to her house. He's sort of confused, because she just spent the two days after finals moving all of her shit out of there, driving back and forth between Columbus and her new place in Cleveland. Like, she has nothing in the house to speak of, and she's staying with Puck tonight because her bed is gone and she doesn't want to stay with any of her friends.

She drags him into the kitchen and shoves him up against the fridge, knocking a bunch of magnets and shit onto the floor when she kisses him. And, you know, awesome.

He knows her roommate is in the house when he fucks Anna on the kitchen table, which is exactly the point, so Puck makes sure that she comes twice - loudly - before he lets go, then watches her with a smirk when she pulls her house keys off her keychain and leaves them in the middle of the table.

He's never been closer to actually loving the girl than he is in that moment.

* * *

><p>Rachel and Mike don't really break up, but that's because they aren't exactly dating. He's easily her best friend in the city, but things between them have been very, very casual, and there isn't any way to sustain that when he's going to be gone for however long on this tour that just keeps having dates added to it.<p>

He comes over to her place the night before he heads to Atlanta to start rehearsals, carrying with him a couple of boxes of things that he doesn't want to leave at the loft while he's gone, including his XBox and a bunch of games, which he's mostly bringing for Noah's benefit. They order Thai food and watch _Crazy, Stupid Love_ while they eat even though they've both seen it.

He takes her hand and weaves their fingers together after she's turned off the television, tugging her up off the couch and into her bedroom. He peels her clothes off and takes care of her, and it's incredible. There aren't any declarations of love and neither of them admits that they'll miss the other; they don't need to say it, because they both know, and they don't have that sort of relationship anyhow.

The next morning, when he leaves to head to the airport, she hugs him goodbye at the door and insists that he call her if he meets anyone interesting and famous. It's vague, yes, but he knows her, so he just laughs and kisses her forehead when he promises that he will.

* * *

><p>Rachel calls him to confirm his flight's arrival time and the gate and all that, which surprises Puck not at all, even though he emailed all of it to her already.<p>

"I'm excited for you to get here," she admits when he teases her about it on the phone the night before. "I haven't seen you in forever."

She's almost right. Thanksgiving does feel like it was forever ago. "Hey, you better not have watched the Godfather movies already," he tells her since he's thinking about it. "You can't do that shit without me."

She doesn't confirm or deny, just laughs and tells him that she'll see him tomorrow afternoon at the airport.

(Of course she hasn't watched them without him.)

She's waiting for him when he gets off the plane, looking down at her phone and standing there in a little pair of denim shorts and a loose, low-cut black and white striped tank top with skinny straps. She looks up when he's walking towards her, smiling brightly and closing the space between them to hug him. "You're here!"

"Your hair is really long," he says, because it is. There are layers and stuff, and she still has bangs, but it's practically waist-length and totally straight. It looks good, just like the rest of her. She feels good, too, pressed up against him with her hands clutching at the back of his tee shirt just a tiny bit.

"I like it like this." She shrugs one shoulder, running her fingers over the strands. "So, what do you want to do first?" she asks, turning to lead him towards the baggage claim. She knows that Noah has only been to the city once, back in high school, and there were so many things they didn't get to see then, things she knows he'll love.

And yes, she already has some things planned, regardless of what Noah says he wants to see. He's here for six weeks, so they'll have plenty of time to fit everything in.

Truth? He kind of just wants to hang out with Rachel and let her get started on whatever giant list of things to do she has for him tomorrow. (Yeah, he knows her.) She smiles when he tells her that. "There's a great pizza place that delivers to my building. And yes," she says before he can interrupt, "it's real pizza with real cheese, even if I won't eat that part."

They spend that first night just hanging out, eating pizza and drinking beer on her couch while they talk and half-watch a _Criminal Minds_ marathon, catching up on all the things they didn't talk about during the semester.

Rachel's couch is a sofabed, so she helps him move her coffee table over against the wall and folds it out when she catches him yawning. She's made the thing up with plain white sheets, and she pulls a plain yellow comforter out of the linen closet. "It's the least feminine bedding I own," she apologizes when she hands it over.

Puck doesn't give a fuck what he sleeps on, to be honest, especially since she's letting him take over his living room for the entire fucking summer. "I don't care," he tells her, spreading the thing out on what he's already thinking of as his bed. She's smiling when she hands him a pair of pillows in white cases. "Really."

She offers him a tiny little smile. She finds it hard to believe that a self-proclaimed badass doesn't mind sleeping with a yellow comforter. "Good night, Noah."

The sheets are soft and smell like fabric softener, and even though it's kind of loud here in her apartment with the sounds of traffic from the street, he's tired enough that it doesn't take him long to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>It's an adjustment, living with someone else, particularly since Noah is sleeping in what would be shared space even if she had a roommate. And now not only is she sharing a bathroom, but she's sharing with a boy.<p>

She knows that this is Noah on his best behavior. He's keeping all of his things very tidy, and he folds up the sofa every morning before he leaves for his job, tucking the comforter and pillows back into the linen closet to keep things neat. He doesn't leave his clothes lying anywhere, and he always hangs up his wet towels. She figures that sharing a bathroom with Santana for two years has kept him from being too disgusting in there.

God, she hopes he isn't doing anything disgusting in her bathroom.

* * *

><p>Puck kind of thinks that interships are just a big scheme for companies to get college kids to come and do the bullshit they don't want to do, like filing and going on coffee runs, and that's really what he's expecting. He's hoping that maybe there'll be someone who doesn't totally suck who'll at least like, engage in a conversation about what she does, because this firm does exactly the kind of thing Puck would like to do someday, but he's not holding his breath. And it turns out that it is a lot of the run-around bullshit, but he thinks some of these people give a shit about helping the interns (there are five of them) actually learn something this summer.<p>

Rachel starts getting up about the same time he does after just a few days even though he knows that she doesn't have to be anywhere for a couple of hours after he leaves. (The girl has her schedule - and his - up on the fridge. He knows when she has to be places.) The thing is, Puck doesn't really talk in the morning, and he never has. Most of the time, the first time he speaks at all on a given day is when he gets to wherever he has to go, be it school or whatever else. His mom and Abby knew that, obviously, and it never really came up when he was sharing a dorm room with Sam since the guy took earlier classes than Puck. Santana's a fucking bitch in the mornings, so he wouldn't talk to her even if he was one of those people who likes chatting over coffee or what the fuck ever. He doesn't have to say anything to Rachel either. It's like she just gets that he isn't going to want to talk before he leaves for work.

It doesn't suck though, getting out of the shower and walking into the kitchen to find that she's made a pot of coffee even though she doesn't always drink it. It's really nice, actually. He asks her why she's up after about three days.

She smiles a little over her mug of Lady Grey. "I'm not used to living with someone else," she says simply, which isn't really an answer.

Noah's stirring sugar into his coffee when it finally clicks. "I wake you up?" She smiles again. "Fuck, Rach, I'm sorry."

"You aren't loud, I'm just used to being alone."

It doesn't matter what she says, now he feels like an asshole for waking her up and then not really talking to her before he leaves.

Rachel can tell that he's trying to be quieter the next morning, which is silly. He isn't doing anything wrong or being inconsiderate. It's the sound of water running in the shower that wakes her up, and he can't stop bathing. Her dads' bathroom was too far away from her bedroom to hear at home, and she's been living alone for three years. It's the sort of thing that she'll probably get used to sooner or later, and besides that, it's easier living with Noah like this when they're on the same schedule. She tells him that when he slinks into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee after he's gotten dressed, and the way he nods lets her know that he still doesn't believe it.


	12. Chapter 12

Rachel is sitting on the couch when Noah gets home from work on Friday afternoon, doing some reading for her Stagecraft course. (Which is, in her opinion, far too superficial since her professor doesn't seem to be taking the summer semester very seriously.) He flops down beside her, toeing off his shoes and pushing them under the coffee table with his feet. She finishes the paragraph she's reading and looks over at him. "We're going out tonight."

Puck's fucking exhausted from running around all day - all week - and he thinks that takeout and beer and chilling on the couch sounds fucking stellar. But it's his first Friday night in the city, and Rachel obviously has some sort of plans, so he nods and figures that he'll just run down to the convenience store on the corner and pound a Red Bull. If college has prepared him for anything, it's partying when he's half-asleep on his feet.

Rachel really just wants to introduce him to some of her friends and have a low-key night, so they go to this little dive bar that she loves and meet up with Christina and Charlotte and Mike's roommate Mark and a few other people. It's fairly obvious after less than an hour that her friends all love Noah, not that she's surprised. He's always been more likable than she is, and he's so naturally charming that he can sometimes even manage to convince people who'd normally hate him that he's incredible.

(Sometimes, when she thinks about it, she wonders if that's how they ended up dating all those year ago, when their entire 'relationship' was his guitar and her short skirts and the two of them making out in her room after school before her dads got home from work.)

"He's cute," Christina whispers to Rachel when they're both watching Charlotte flirt with him. The girl has no shame, apparently, given the way she's leaning close and touching Noah's arm, but Rachel can tell that he isn't interested.

"He is," she agrees neutrally, taking a little sip of her beer.

"And he's sleeping on your couch?" Rachel nods. "I would drag him to my bed and not let him out."

Rachel just snickers and shakes her head. She isn't going to tell Christina anything about it, but she won't go down that road again with Noah, not after how humiliated she was when she tried last summer. God, it was nearly a year ago that she threw herself at him, and they didn't really talk for months after. He's her best friend and he's living on her couch for the next five weeks; she isn't going to do something that she knows is just going to make things uncomfortable between them.

Puck's pretty glad to see that Rachel has some real friends here in the city other than Chang. He knows she can take care of herself, but high school was hard for her and she spent a lot of time alone when she was in Columbus (for mostly good reasons, he knows). She would have been alone a lot more at OSU if it hadn't been for the fact that they were all right there, and yeah, he worried that maybe she was gonna go all hermit once she got here.

He doesn't hate any of these people, but he doesn't like them enough to pretend that he isn't fucking exhausted, so after a couple of hours, he slips into the chair next to Rachel and leans in close. "D'you think we could head out soon?"

"Are you okay?" His eyebrows knit together. "The only time I ever saw you voluntarily leave a party early, you had a sinus infection and couldn't breathe through your nose, and even then you'd been doing Irish car bombs."

He grimaces. Fuck, he doesn't actually remember that night, but he remembers the next day, and mixing a hangover with a sinus infection is fucking _awful_. "It's been a long week, and I kinda just want to be at home."

"Sure," Rachel agrees easily. "Whenever you're ready."

Charlotte looks particularly put out when they announce that they're leaving. "Let me give you my number," she tells Noah, holding out her hand like she expects him to hand her his phone.

"Oh, I'll just get it from Rachel if I need it," he says casually, and Rachel has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at his brush off.

"She wants you, Noah," she points out when they're walking down the sidewalk back towards her apartment.

"Whatever," he dismisses, looking at the dark storefront that they're walking past. He doesn't know what this store is supposed to be, but there's a ton of crazy shit in the window.

Rachel goes into her room when they get home, and Puck lets out a sigh before moving the coffee table and pulling out his bed. He's not gonna say anything about it, because he does have some manners and he's grateful, but he hates the whole process of fucking with this bed twice a day. It's a huge fucking pain in the ass, and he'd really like to just leave it the way it is, but he's already taking over her living room and not paying a dime for it. The least he can do is make sure it looks normal when he isn't sleeping in it.

She comes out of her bedroom in these tiny little shorts and a tank top with skinny straps and raises her eyebrows when she sees him in bed flipping channels. "I thought you were tired." He shrugs and watches her walk over to the door to check the locks like she does every single night even though she locks them behind herself every time she comes in.

"Stay here with me," he says when she turns to go back into her room. "We can hang out."

She shakes her head, but she still crawls into bed beside him, pulling the blankets up to her waist and looking at the television. "What is this?" she asks after a minute.

"_Robot Chicken_."

"It's kind of stupid," she says thoughtfully, reaching for the remote where it's lying on the comforter between them. He glares. "It's my TV."

He doesn't say anything when she finds a _Friends_ rerun because he doesn't hate the show, and he's pretty sure he's going to be asleep before the episode ends. Instead, he just sinks down into the bed a little more and catches himself grinning when she giggles at the show.

* * *

><p>By the beginning of his third week at the firm (Helmsley and Monroe is its real name, but Santana started calling it Hell to the No the first time she heard it and singing that song Mercedes wrote junior year, and it kind of stuck), one of the partners has decided that she likes Puck's attitude.<p>

Rachel starts laughing when he gets home and tells her that while they're waiting for the Indian they ordered to get there. "Has anyone _ever_ said that you have a good attitude?"

No. "Shut up." She shoots him a disapproving glance. "I was playing messenger boy for one of the junior partners, and her secretary wasn't there, so I walked into her office to give her the file. She asked me why I wanted to be an architect, and I guess she liked my answer."

Rachel smiles. "I like your answer, too," she tells him. She thinks it's sweet that his mother's thoughts about her dream home inspired him to want to build houses for other people.

Puck doesn't really know what to say to that, but the buzzer goes off and saves him from having to figure anything out when Rachel jumps up to answer it.

* * *

><p>They spend an entire Saturday doing a bunch of the really touristy things in lower Manhattan. They go to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island and have lunch in Chinatown. They visit the 911 memorial, which is a little surreal. They were in second grade when all of that happened, and neither of them remembers much about that day, even though it's such an important piece of American history. Really, all Puck remembers is that he couldn't watch _SpongeBob_ for like, a week and all the adults spent a lot more time whispering to each other than usual.

Rachel takes him to the Empire State Building because it's one of the things that she hasn't done yet, and when he isn't paying attention, she closes her eyes and has a little romantic comedy fantasy in her head. She's mostly moved beyond feeling the need for such gestures, but that doesn't mean that she can't entertain the thought now and again.

When they're on the way back down to the street, they get shoved to the back of the elevator by a bunch of fat midwesterners. (Puck's a midwesterner; he's allowed to say it.) He wraps his hand around Rachel's wrist and pulls her a little closer when he sees how she's standing, all stiff with her head turned to the side in an effort to avoid getting elbowed in the nose by the tall dude in front of her. She smiles up at him, slipping her fingers between his and rubbing her thumb along the side of his hand.

She's still holding his hand when they're back on the street. "Now where?" Puck asks.

"Is there anything else you're dying to see?"

"Uh, the inside of my eyelids?" She laughs a little. "You woke me up really fuckin' early, baby."

She squeezes his hand gently and starts walking in the direction of her apartment. "It's payback," she teases, giving him a wink when he scowls down at her. "You can take a nap when we get home."

They're both pretty quiet on the walk back to her place, and he thinks she's probably more tired than she's letting on. Her summer semester of classes just ended, so her new project is to use all of Puck's free time showing him her favorite things about the city. (And, apparently, dragging him to do things she hasn't been able to do yet under the guise of letting him be a tourist. He knows how she operates.)

It feels like fucking forever before he starts seeing things that he recognizes, landmarks that let him know that they're finally in her neighborhood and close to her apartment. He doesn't even realize that they're still holding hands until she lets go of his to unlock the door, and he really thinks he's going to fall asleep when they're in the elevator on the way up. It kind of makes him feel like a baby in a car, lulled by the motion or whatever.

Rachel steps out of her shoes as soon as she's in the apartment, flexing her toes and wishing that she had carpeting instead of hardwood when she walks into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Noah is moving the coffee table when she steps back into the living room. "Quit it," she tells him quietly, holding out her water glass so he can have a drink. Rehydrating is important.

"Fuck off," he says mildly, taking the glass and draining half of it in one drink. She watches with some fascination; she's never understood how boys can do that.

"No, come sleep with me," she offers, taking the glass back. She shrugs at the expression on his face, like he's not sure she's serious. "We've slept together before, and I'm sure folding out your bed is a pain."

He doesn't even think about it before he agrees and follows her to her room. As much as loves her and the fact that she's letting him stay here, he fucking hates that sofabed, and being able to sleep without fucking around with it sounds perfect.

Rachel pushes her little denim skirt down off her hips, leaving her in just her plain gray tank top and yellow cotton panties (yeah, he notices), so Puck follows suit and steps out of his jeans before crawling into bed beside her.

She's alarmed when he lets out a long, low groan. "Are you okay?"

"Your bed is so much more fucking comfortable than that one," he tells her seriously, stretching out his back and setting one hand on his stomach.

She could be offended, but she knows he doesn't mean it that way, so she doesn't say anything. She smiles a tiny bit, turns onto her side, and tugs the duvet up a bit.

She must move more in her sleep than she realized, because when she wakes up an hour later, she's curled into his side.

* * *

><p>Noah's birthday falls on a Wednesday, and Rachel plays it pretty low-key. Since he has to be at work by nine and she doesn't have to be anywhere all day, she gets up a bit early and makes him breakfast (pancakes from scratch, and she takes a moment to mourn the chickens and be thankful for the cow). It's too hot to bake anything, so she walks to a little bakery a few blocks from her place to get him a little something, and after considering the items in the case, she chooses a little two-serving yellow cake with chocolate frosting because she knows he likes traditional things. They go to a little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant that has the best marinara sauce she's ever had, and she insists that he has to blow out twenty-two candles on his cake before he can eat it.<p>

If he's disappointed that she doesn't give him a proper gift, he keeps it to himself.

(Puck isn't disappointed at all, though he thinks it's a little weird. Rachel's kind of nutty about giving 'perfect' gifts, and it isn't really like her not to give him anything.)

Rachel has a very firm belief that experiences are more valuable than things, and that's what she wants to give Noah for his New York birthday.

Waking up Saturday morning with a girl all pressed up against him and murmuring in his ear? It's been awhile, so that doesn't suck. It takes a minute for him to wake up enough to realize that it's Rachel and she's telling him to get up and get dressed because they have somewhere to be.

"The fuck're you talkin' 'bout?" he mumbles. He's not awake at all.

She smiles brightly when he finally opens his eyes and looks at her. "We have baseball tickets, and we have to get all the way to the Bronx." He blinks at her. "The Indians are playing the Yankees, Noah."

"I fuckin' hate the Yankees," he says. It's like a reflex, and it makes her giggle, which is pretty cute even if she did just wake him up. "You bought baseball tickets?" he asks when that detail finally clicks. Rachel isn't really a sports girl, and he's heard her talk about how boring baseball is, so he's a little confused.

Her smile widens and she leans close to kiss his cheek. "Happy birthday!"

Their seats aren't great, and Rachel doesn't know a lot about baseball, but she's enthusiastic - of course she is - without annoying him with questions or whatever. And really, when the Indians beat the Yankees in their own stadium, Puck could give a fuck where he's sitting or that the person he's with doesn't care about baseball.

He just likes seeing the fucking Yankees lose.

Noah convinces her to let him cook her dinner as a thank you when they get home from the game, which she's only a tiny bit nervous about. He understands her diet now, she thinks, and she knows he's a good cook, but sometimes you don't even think about exactly what you're using when you cook; you just put things in a pan or a bowl because you know they're delicious. Normally, she wouldn't even have things like eggs or butter or cheese in her fridge, but with Noah here, she's made some concessions, and she's a little concerned about what could make its way onto her plate.

It doesn't matter that he rolls his eyes when she mentions it, she's still quite relieved when he tells her to relax because he's making a veggie stir-fry and rice.

(Puck's known her for years and has been living with her for weeks, but he basically has no idea what the hell she's eating most of the time. Straight-up vegetables it is.)

She sits on the counter beside where he's working, sipping a summer wheat beer and watching him chop vegetables.

"So you liked your present?" she asks after a while.

Puck doesn't look up from the cutting board. She's fishing, he knows, because he's told her more than once today how much he liked her gift. He finishes slicing the scallions, then sets his knife down and shuffles over so he's standing in front of where she's sitting on the counter. "I really liked it, baby."

The back of his hand grazes the outside of her thigh when he reaches past her for his beer, a tiny little touch that makes her heart beat just a little faster. It catches her off guard, though it really shouldn't. It isn't as if it's a secret that she not only finds him attractive but is attracted to him, however much she's tried to ignore it. It was almost a year ago that she kissed him and did her best to destroy their friendship, and they've really only just gotten it back to where it was before. These last few weeks, having him in her city, have been wonderful. She feels like she's gotten to know him again.

Which, of course, just means that she's falling for him again.

But she isn't going to jeopardize their friendship again. She isn't sure that they could survive that, and she doesn't want to find out. Few things in her life involving men have hurt as much as Noah telling her that he didn't want to sleep with her, and she isn't at all interested in revisiting that feeling.

"Hurry up and cook my dinner," she tells him with a smile, giggling when he raises an eyebrow. It's mostly to get him to step away from her, to give her some distance so she can stop thinking inappropriate thoughts about her best friend.

* * *

><p>Puck knows that Rachel probably thinks she has the market cornered on surprises. She's wrong, and honestly, it's almost too easy to go online and get tickets to a show he knows she hasn't seen yet. (He does listen when she talks.) Like, if they were dating and he was trying to impress her for real, this wouldn't even qualify, but she's still gonna go nuts.<p>

He waits until Saturday morning to tell her, when she's drinking coffee and watching him fold up his bed. "I thought maybe today we could go out to Brooklyn to the farmers' market. There are all sorts of things there."

"Yeah, not into vegetables, Rach." He ignores her scowl and pushes the cushions back onto the sofa. "And we already have plans for this afternoon."

"What are you talking about?" she asks. She doesn't remember making plans, and that isn't the sort of thing she'd forget.

He's not really paying attention to her, apparently concentrating too hard on folding his comforter to answer her question. "We have tickets to the matinee of _A Chorus Line_," he finally says, snagging the pillows he left on the floor beside the couch and stepping down the hall to put them in the linen closet.

"What?" He's grinning at her when he comes back into the living room and sees her standing there with wide eyes.

"You heard me."

She lets out little squeal and launches herself into his arms so fast that he's worried that she's going to spill her coffee down his back.

Rachel has been following the progress of this show online since the revival was first announced two years ago. She and Mike had discussed going when it opened, though the idea fell by the wayside when he was hired for the tour. She's had a vague idea that she and Dad might go when he next came to visit her in the city, but no specific plans other than the fact that she will absolutely see it before it closes.

Apparently, she's going to see it today.

It's worth the money he spent on the tickets to see how cute she is about the whole thing. Puck sits on the couch and watches the Twins smoke the Yankees (they're having a bad year; awesome) while Rachel gets ready, talking to her dad on the phone in the bathroom while she curls her hair and puts on makeup and stuff. She reappears in a mermaid-green dress that ties behind her neck and sort of floats down to her knees. Her hair is wavy, pinned back behind one ear with this fancy gold barrette, and the black heels she's wearing make her legs look amazing.

"It's a little too fancy for a matinee," she admits, brushing self-consciously at the fabric at the front of her thigh, "but I don't care."

"You look beautiful," Puck tells her, standing up from the couch. He doesn't even think about it before he says it; it's just true.

Rachel manages to hold his gaze even though she feels her cheeks go warm. "Thank you."

Puck read just a little bit about the show when he bought the tickets, and he wasn't totally sure that he was going to like it. But he recognizes some of the songs (even if a girl is singing the part he thought was a guy) and the story doesn't suck. By the end of it, he's as engrossed as anyone else, and he's on his feet and clapping right along with them.

He grabs Rachel's hand in the lobby after some guy walks over her feet and nearly knocks her down. It's crowded and she's small enough that people either don't see her or think it's okay to run her over. He wants to make sure they don't get separated or she doesn't get squished.

It's a little strange to walk out onto the bright street; it feels like it should be nighttime. Rachel waits until the crowd thins enough to walk next to him to say anything to Noah. "Thank you so much." She squeezes his hand gently. "You know you didn't have to do this."

"Uh, yeah, I did," he tells her, looking at her like she's crazy. "You let me like, take over your apartment for basically the whole summer. I totally owe you."

She shakes her head and looks down at the sidewalk for a moment. "You don't owe me anything, Noah."

He nudges her with his shoulder, so she looks up at him and catches his grin. "Where are we going?" she asks when he tugs her past the subway entrance.

His grin turns into a smirk. "Dinner." One of the junior partners at work is vegan, so Puck asked him for a restaurant recommendation. The guy gave him a list of places, so Puck chose the one closest to the theater and is hoping for the best. This is basically the least he can do after everything she's done for him this summer.

Her feet ache by the time they get home, but Rachel barely notices. Between the show and dinner at a restaurant that Noah never would have chosen for himself in a million years (though she thinks he enjoyed his meal more than he wants to admit), she's so happy that...well, she can't remember the last time she was this happy. She wants to thank him again, but she knows that he won't accept it, so she doesn't say anything, though she does take his hand again when they're in the elevator, offering him a little smile when he looks at her. "Today was...amazing."

He loves the little smile she's wearing. "I'm glad you liked it."

"I loved it," she corrects softly, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand.

He watches her step out of her shoes as soon as they're in the apartment, flexing her feet a little and rolling her ankles. "I'm going to change," she tells him before disappearing down the hall. They talked about it on the way back, how they were going to spend their evening, and even though they have the entire city there waiting for them, Puck kind of digs just hanging out with her. Like, staying at her apartment and sitting on the couch, watching movies and teaching her how to play the first-person shooter games that she claims to hate even though she's awesome at them. (Puck's convinced that Jews are naturally better at killing virtual Nazis, and Rachel's just reinforcing that belief.) She's really the only girl he's ever been able to hang out with like this. Maybe that's why he likes it so much.

She finds him standing in the kitchen, his tie hanging loose around his neck, a bottle of wine on the counter, and a corkscrew in his hand. "Oh, that is such a go-"

He catches her completely off guard when he presses his lips to hers, the corkscrew clattering on the counter when his arm comes around her waist to pull her against his chest. She lets out a little squeak of surprise, but then his tongue slides across her bottom lip and all she can do is kiss him back, her fingertips grasping at his arms.

She tears her mouth from his with a gasp when he tries to draw her tongue into his mouth. "Noah. I don't-what is this?"she manages. She tries to arch away from him, but he slides his hand up her back to sit between her shoulder blades and keeps her close.

Fuck, it isn't like he thought about it. They just had this fucking perfect day together, and she keeps giving him these fucking perfect looks. Then she walked into the kitchen in a plain white tee shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, her feet bare and her hair loose around her shoulders, and he realized that she looks just as good like this as she did in that green dress, and he just _wants_ her.

He's staring down at her like he's never seen her before, one hand gripping her hip hard enough that it almost hurts, and all she can think is that it's happening all over. One of them has taken it too far, and things are going to change, and she just doesn't know if their friendship can handle something like this again.

"Fuck," he mutters, staring at her intently. "Rachel, I-_fuck_, I want you."

He knows it's wrong before he even says it. Rachel sets her hands flat on his chest and pushes, stepping backwards away from him and shaking her head with her eyes all huge.

"That isn't-I'm like, fal-"

"Stop," she interrupts, speaking too loudly. "I can't. Not again." She bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to distract herself from the lump in her throat when she turns to leave the kitchen, and she manages to make it all the way to her bedroom before the tears fall.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

It's been a long time since Puck has felt like everything he touches turns to shit, but that's exactly what he's getting right now, standing barefoot in Rachel's kitchen. The entire time that he's been here in the city, things have been great. With his internship, with Rachel - it's all been pretty close to perfect. Today was just supposed to be him doing a nice thing for his best friend, to pay her back for letting him crash and because he loves her. Except when she walked into the kitchen, he realized that he doesn't just love her because she's his friend. He's like, falling for her. And no, he isn't _in love_ with her, but he knows that the way he feels about her isn't just platonic.

He doesn't know what she's thinking, but he's pretty sure that she didn't hear the part where he was trying to tell her that he was falling for her. And this isn't just a sex thing. Yeah, when she first walked into the kitchen, that's where his head (his dick) went, but that's not all this is.

She needs to know that.

Rachel scowls when her bedroom door opens slowly. "I should've known you'd pick the lock," she mutters, brushing angrily at the tears on her cheek. Why would Noah respect that she wants to be left alone?

"You have to listen to me," he says seriously. He stands at the foot of the bed and looks at her, sitting with her back against the headboard, her knees pulled up to her chest. "That wasn't what you think it was."

She sighs. "What was it, Noah?"

"It wasn't just about sex." He ignores her scoff. This feels really fucking stupid, like he's sixteen all over again, but he doesn't know how else to say it. "When I said I want you, I mean I want _you_."

She thinks her heart is beating too fast.

"I don't know when it happened, Rach, but...fuck, I _like_ you," he says seriously. She doesn't know what to make of the fact that he looks incredibly frustrated right now. "Could you say something?" he says after a moment. "This silence shit feels weird on you."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Noah." She presses her lips together. He's her best friend, and she doesn't want to lose that, not to mention the fact that he's going to be here, living in her apartment, for another two weeks.

But he's her best friend. She _knows_ him. Things have been different between them this summer, just a little at first and, now that she's thinking about it, more and more as time went on. Today? This was a date. A big, elaborate, personal date, and the only thing missing was the kiss at the end.

Except she kind of got that, didn't she?

"You like me?" she finally whispers, watching him carefully. She's biting her lip and looking at him like he's going to tell her it's all a joke, that he was just kidding and he didn't just try to ruin their friendship and their summer and make an ass of himself.

He walks around to her side of the bed and sits next to her hip. "I'm like, totally falling for you," he admits, taking her hand and rubbing a circle into her palm with his thumb. "But shit doesn't have to change if you don't want it to."

Rachel wants to laugh. Instead, she leans over and kisses him gently, leaning her forehead against his and letting out a little breath. "Now what?"

He'd like to have her naked and find out what she looks like when she comes, but he's pretty sure that telling her he wants her on her back isn't a good idea.

"You wanna pretend to watch a movie and make out?"

* * *

><p>Rachel's waiting for him outside work on Wednesday afternoon in this little white sun dress that he wants to tear off her basically the second he sees her.<p>

Saturday night, when they were watching some movie (legit, he doesn't even know what she put on) and Puck tried to push his hand down past the waistband of her shorts, she stopped him and said that she wanted to 'take things slow.' And that was fine. He can work with slow.

Except it's Wednesday now, and he knows what she looks like when she comes around his fingers and what she tastes like when she comes on his tongue. And now he wants to know what it feels like when she comes on his cock. And even though he knows, logically, that they're not moving slow at all, it feels like fucking torture not to be able to have all of her.

He's not going to say anything though. Most everything is still the same, even if Rachel curls up next to him when they sit on her couch together, and he held her hand when they walked back from dinner the other night. But shit, they're still sleeping in separate beds. It's not like they've talked about what they're doing, and he doesn't have any idea what they're going to do when he goes back to Ohio in a week and a half, but for now, he's just going to go with it.

She lays this tiny little kiss on his lips when he walks up to her, and she just keeps talking about the restaurant they're going to when he takes her hand.

* * *

><p>Rachel is awake not two minutes after Noah starts his shower on Thursday morning, though she thinks now that it's more a habit than actually being disturbed by the noise. It's like her body knows exactly what time he's going to be in the shower every morning and wakes her up so she can go make coffee.<p>

(It's funny, having him here is turning her into an actual coffee drinker. Before, it was something she craved every once in a while, mostly when it was cold and she was tired, but now she's drinking it nearly every morning. Something about the power of suggestion, she supposes.)

She doesn't know exactly what's happening between them. He's her best friend, and she loves him for that, but since Saturday, something is different, and not just the fact that her self-control keeps slipping further and further every time he puts his hands on her. There's something different about their conversations that she can't quite put her finger on, and she thinks they might be touching one another more, like they need the physical contact.

God, she feels like she's in high school all over again.

She tries to push the thoughts aside when she hears the shower stop running, getting out of bed and going into the kitchen so she can start the coffee and find something to have for breakfast.

The fact that Noah leans down to kiss her before he leaves for work, his hand sliding up the back of her tank top to press against her bare skin for just a moment before he heads out the door, doesn't make things any more clear.

It's been driving her crazy all week, and she thinks that maybe she needs to talk about it. It's been years since she's been in a situation like this, a potentially messy and complicated relationship-type thing. Gosh, she hasn't done this since high school and Finn, because she hasn't really let herself _be_ with anyone since then. But that just makes it harder to talk to someone, because who is she going to talk to? She thinks that Santana would listen, but she doesn't know how helpful the girl would be. They don't have these sorts of conversations, not really. Their relationship is a bit more superficial, but not in a bad way. They just tend to stick to ligher subjects when they talk. She thinks that Mike would absolutely listen to do his best to give her good advice, but it's more than a little awkward to discuss her realtionship with Noah with the last man that she slept with, even if he is her dear friend and they were on the same page with their relationship.

When she manages to forget half of her shopping list at the market and has to go back, she decides that enough is enough, and even though it's two in the afternoon, she dials Dad's work number.

"Are you too busy to talk for a few minutes?" she asks when he answers.

"Not at all, angelfish. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Well, no, I'm confused," she corrects. "It's Noah."

She tells him the whole story, going back to last year, though she does change and omit a few details, not because she's ashamed or trying to make things look different than they are, but because she doesn't really need her father thinking about her taking her clothes off for anyone. (Of course, her fathers knew that she'd had sex, and she's sure Dad assumes that she's still having sex, but she still doesn't have to talk about it.)

"I'm afraid that if we try to be in a relationship, or whatever it might turn into, it's going to crash and burn, and I'm going to lose my best friend," she finishes. "I don't even know what Noah wants."

"Rachel, sweetheart, you can't be afraid," Dad tells her gently.

"Of course I can be afraid."

"You can't be so afraid that you don't let yourself try something that could be great," he corrects. He sighs quietly. "Honey, I think that boy really cares about you, and when you have a chance to be with someone who cares about you as much as you care about them, you have to take it."

"What if it doesn't work and we end up hating each other?" she asks, almost whispering. That's what she's really afraid of.

"What if you fall in love with each other and are together forever?" he counters, making her laugh a little, even as something twists in her stomach. "You'll never know if you don't try." She wishes that he was here so she could hug him; this conversation would be infinitely better with a hug. "Just think about it."

Spending more time thinking about this wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she called Dad; she wanted him to tell her what to do so she could _stop_ thinking about it. It's good, sensible advice though, and she owes it to herself to make the best decision she can here.

* * *

><p>"Wake up, baby."<p>

Noah's lips are skimming over the back of her shoulder when she wakes up, his hand pushing up the front of the tank top she's wearing to rest flat against her stomach. "Mmm."

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but the book she was reading is lying on the bed beside her (without a bookmark) and Noah is in bed with her.

Rachel blinks up at him blearily when she turns onto her back. "Hi." She takes a deep breath and brings her hand up to graze along his jaw. "How was work?"

"Fine." He leans down to kiss her, sipping at her lips and grazing the underside of her breast with his thumb. "I thought about you," he murmurs against her lips before up across her cheek to her ear. "About last night. Your mouth, baby."

Her laugh is a little breathless when he nips at her earlobe. Last night, she went down on him for the first time. Performing oral sex isn't her favorite thing to do in the bedroom, but she certainly doesn't hate it, and thanks to quite a lot of time spent doing exactly that with Finn and her lack of gag reflex, she's rather good at it. It's a bit of a power trip, making a man fall apart like that, and it's an excellent way to begin to discover what makes him crazy.

And she isn't ashamed to admit that she quite liked the way it felt to have Noah's hands threaded through her hair and the way he groaned her name right before he let go.

"Stop thinking so much," he tells her, grazing his teeth over her collarbone.

Her hand slips into the back of his hair. "I was thinking about last night, too," she admits. She makes a surprised little noise when he bites at her shoulder maybe a little harder than he should, but Jesus. She can't say shit like that and not expect him to react.

He pushes her shirt up over her head when she starts slipping the buttons of his through the holes, then takes a second to appreciate the way her red bra looks against her skin before leaning down to kiss along the swell of her breast just above the satin. He's still working on finding all of the spots that make her crazy, but he knows that if he runs his fingertips from the hollow of her throat down to the valley of her breasts, her lips will part and her back will arch a tiny bit. He smirks up at her when she does just that and takes the opportunity to slip his hand behind her back and unclasp her bra, tugging the straps carefully down her arms so he can toss the garment on the floor.

She slides her hands over his shoulders, taking his shirt with them. She loves the way his skin feels under her hands, the play of the muscles when he fits himself between her thighs, his hand palming one breast when he pulls the nipple of the other past his lips. "Noah."

Her self-control with him is slipping, and the way he's pressing himself between her legs isn't helping. She wants him, so badly, but she's terrified of losing their friendship, and she thinks-

Oh, _god_, she can't think at all when he's moving down her body, kissing down her stomach and pulling her shorts down off her hips.

She makes the sexiest noise ever when he puts his mouth against her, and her nails dig into his scalp just a little when she pushes her hand into his hair. Fuck, he hasn't even slept with her (yet), and he's pretty sure she's the sexiest woman he's ever been with. She drapes her right leg over her back when she lets go, her back arching up off the bed and his name falling from her lips.

He moves back up her body slowly, kissing the swell of her breast before resting his head against her chest, giving her a moment to catch her breath, she thinks. "You're so fucking beautiful, Rachel." She can feel his lips moving against her skin, and something about the way that he says her name makes her lose her mind a little. She can't explain it, but it's different than he's ever said it before, different than she's ever heard anyone say her name.

She can feel how hard he is against the inside of her thigh, and even though she just came, she wants him. God, she wants him so badly, and all of the reasons - and they're good reasons, really - that she shouldn't sleep with him are all jumbled up in her mind.

"Noah, I want-_god_," she breathes when he rocks his hips against her, his lips hovering over the hollow of her throat. "Noah, I want you," she manages the second time she tries.

Puck pulls back a bit to look down at her, trying to figure out if she means what he hopes she means or if she's just talking nonsense. Her hair is a mess, from sleeping and from what they just did, and her eyes are super dark, her pupils huge and her eyelashes all fluttery. He presses his hips against hers, testing, and lets out a groan when her eyes fall closed and her neck arches a little. "Are you serious, baby?" She murmurs something, but it gets lost in her moan when he brings his hand up to cup her breast again, his fingers just grazing her nipple. "Rachel."

He's staring at her intently when she opens her eyes, her back arching in an attempt to coax him into touching her more. "Yes. Please, Noah, I can't-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, hard and right on the edge of harsh, nipping at her lips and burying his hand in her hair to tilt her head the way he wants it. He nips at her bottom lip with his teeth when she reaches between them to unbuckle his belt, letting out a groan before pushing himself away from her to stand next to the bed, finishing the job she started with his belt before pushing his pants and boxers down off his hips.

"Noah."

_Fuck_, the way she says his name, all breathless and needy. He's a dude, so he's spent years (the entire time he's known her, really) thinking about what it would be like to sleep with her. She's destroyed all his expectations, and he hasn't even been inside her yet.

She means to watch his eyes when he pushes into her for the first time, but she can't keep hers open wide enough to do it.

* * *

><p>"What are we doing?"<p>

Even though she's just barely whispering, she scares the shit out of Puck. He thought she was asleep, which would have made sense since he woke her up for...well, not for this, specifically, but this is what happened, and he's pretty sure he wore her out. Fuck, he wore himself out.

But she isn't asleep. She's lying there on her stomach, her hand tucked beneath her pillow and the sheet bunched at her waist so he can see the expanse of her bare back, looking at him with those big brown eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asks dumbly. They're just laying here.

"Noah." She takes a breath. "Our...relationship, or whatever this is," she says quietly, watching his eyes. "What are we doing?"

She didn't mean to sleep with him before they had this conversation. God, she didn't mean to sleep with him at all, because as much as she cares about him and as much as she wants him, she's here, and he's going back ot Ohio in a week, and even if Noah could do long distance (which she isn't convinced he could), she doesn't know that she can. She likes being able to see her boyfriend, to touch him and look at his eyes when she talks to him, to fall asleep with him when they're watching movies. Rachel doesn't know how people maintain relationships with only the telephone and text messages to sustain them and the promise of visits that are weeks or months in the future.

But she did sleep with him, and now he's naked in her bed and reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"I don't know," he admits, shaking his head a little. "But I like what we've been doing this week."

"What is it, though?"

"I don't know," he repeats, because he doesn't. "I don't wanna stop."

"You're leaving in a week."

"A week and three days," he corrects with a smirk. There's a _lot_ he can do in three days if she wants to let him. "Just don't worry about it, baby."

"I'm a worrier," she reminds him. She's already worrying about it. She's _been_ worrying about it.

Puck leans over to kiss her, pushing at her shoulder until she takes the hint and turns onto her side. "Lemme distract you," he murmurs against her lips. He slides his hand down her side and over her hip, slipping it between her thighs and kissing her hard when she whimpers. "Rachel."

He doesn't actually give her a chance to answer, just pushes her onto her back and fits himself between her thighs again, kissing her so good that her head is swimming and she couldn't manage to form coherent words even if she wanted to.

She knows they're only delaying the inevitable.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** A quick thank you to everyone who has been taking the time to read this story; it means the world to me. I feel like this is sort of the chapter we've (yes, me too) all been waiting for, and as such, I'd love to hear what you think about it.


	13. Chapter 13

They have a picnic in Battery Park on Sunday afternoon. They stop at two different delis on their way, one Jewish and another place that has vegan stuff that she can actually eat. Puck's starting to realize how little traditional Jewish food is vegan - not that most of the food that normal people eat is - and he wonders if there's anything that she misses. Like, she hasn't been vegan forever, and he knows that her Daddy ate meat, so he's pretty sure that she's had matzo ball soup and brisket and noodle kugel and everything else.

She takes a sip of her pink lemonade and considers it when he asks. "Challah. My nana makes amazing challah that I used to _love_," she tells him. "When I was little, Daddy would freeze extra loaves, then make French toast with it."

It sounds fucking delicious. (He's suggesting it to his mom next time he's home.) "Don't you ever just want to eat a cheeseburger or like, a milkshake?" He's listened to her talk about this shit enough that he understands her reasoning or whatever, but really, doesn't everyone have cravings?

In her mind's eye, cheeseburgers are always bloody slabs of meat with congealed, oily cheese on top, and if she thinks about them too seriously, they morph into the poor, sad cow that was killed to make it. "Not at all," she answers honestly.

It's actually kind of nice, just being with her like this. He leans back against the trunk of the oak tree Rachel chose to spread their blanket out under, and she's lying with her head on his thighs reading some book with birds on the cover. There's a group of little kids running around with water guns out in the middle of the open space he and Rachel are next to, and he's watching them play when Rachel closes her book and looks up at him seriously.

"I don't think we should make any promises to each other."

"What?"

She takes a deep breath, because this is the part where things could fall apart. It's all based on the assumption that Noah would want to be in a relationship with her if they were in the same city, if she was in Columbus or he was staying in New York, and there's always the chance that she's wrong. Still, she just has to say it and hope that she's right.

"I don't think that I'm a long-distance relationship kind of girl," she tells him. "And I don't want either of us to make any promises that we can't keep."

Puck sets his hand on her stomach over her shirt and rubs a circle with his thumb. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Her eyes are wide, and she looks so nervous that he kind of just wants to kiss her and make her stop. "I'm not really a long-distance relationship guy either, Rach," he points out. "But like...we're more than just friends, Rachel."

She sits up then, folding her legs to the side and turning to face him. "I know," she whispers just before she leans in to kiss him. It's chaste, and he knows it's because they're in a public place with little kids. That's okay though; she's far from chaste behind closed doors.

Nothing changes after that afternoon, which, really, is exactly what she was going for.

She counts it as a success.

* * *

><p>He doesn't sleep on the sofabed at all the last week that he's in New York. He sleeps on the right side of Rachel's bed - and somehow, over the years and in the handful of times they've shared beds before, they have <em>sides<em> - sometimes with her curled up against him.

Every time they go somewhere or do something, he thinks about how it could be the last, and he's a little surprised that Rachel hasn't brought it up. She did that in high school, talked about how _everything_ was the last time:

_'It's your last high school football game. Noah, it's your last football game ever!'_ (She baked cookies for that. Awesome.)

_'It's our last boys versus girls competition, and I for one want an actual winner this year.'_ (Schue still didn't choose a winner, though Puck can admit that the girls kicked their asses with their mash-up of "All You Need Is Love" and "Don't Let Me Down" for the Beatles-themed assignment.)

_'It's the last time we'll ever perform in this gym as a group!'_ (Sure. It was also the last time that an assembly they performed at turned into chaos, this time because the hockey team started heckling and Rachel lost her shit while she had an open mic in her hand and told them all what she thought. He's still not sure most of those guys knew half the words she used, but that didn't stop them from going fucking nuts.)

So he doesn't get why she's not saying anything, why she's just letting all of this stuff happen without mentioning it. When they go to eat at that Italian place she took him to however long ago, he knows it could be the last time they ever eat here together (he's realistic), and he finally asks her why she isn't making a big deal out of it.

"It's hard enough to know that you're leaving without acknowledging it every five minutes, Noah," she says quietly. Of course she's aware, but she's trying not to dwell.

Or maybe she's in denial. Either way.

* * *

><p>They don't sleep at all on Puck's last night in the city.<p>

They get pizza from the same place that they ordered from on his first night there and eat it while they watch some movie with that guy from _The Notebook_. When it's over, Rachel just stands up and turns off the lamp on the table next to her, holding out her hand in the way Puck knows means that she wants him to go to bed with her even though it's not even ten yet. She laughs quietly when he glances pointedly at the paper plates and napkins that are still on the coffee table. "Don't worry about it."

He isn't worried about it. He just knows that normally, she would be.

A little after two, Noah's lying on his stomach and she's beside him, letting her fingertips trace the lines of his back, up and down his spine, over his shoulder blades, the spot at the base of his spine that he insists isn't ticklish even though it is. "I'm going to miss you," she whispers, and she thinks she's said these exact words to him before. It's starting to really sink in, the fact that she spent the majority of her summer with only him, and she's really, sincerely going to miss that when he's gone. Sure, she'll have school, but that isn't the same, and most of those people aren't actually her friends. (They're her competition.)

Puck opens his eyes to look at her. "Yeah?" She isn't quite meeting his eyes. "Rachel."

"It's silly," she whispers around the lump in her throat."You're right here, and I already miss you a little."

"Baby." He puts his hand on her shoulder and pushes her onto her back, shifting to lay half on top of her. "Don't get all sappy on me now." She scowls even when he kisses her, sliding his hand across her stomach. "I'm right here," he reminds her, his lips skimming across her cheek to her ear.

She doesn't say anything, just shifts so he's between her thighs, his half-hard length pressing against her. "Okay," she murmurs, closing her eyes and pushing her hand into the back of his hair when he drops his head to suck her nipple past his lips. She doesn't know she means, exactly.

They're both fucking exhausted when they get to the airport. Puck thinks it's worth it though. That eight hours that he spent with Rachel, talking with her and touching her and behind inside her, is better than any sleep he could have gotten, and he can always sleep on the plane.

He knows Rachel thinks she looks like shit (she told him, though she didn't use that word), but she's wrong. She looks tired and sad, but she's still fucking beautiful, and even though she scoffed when he told her that, he knows that she liked hearing it.

"Call me when you get home," she says when they're standing at his gate. She's looking down at their joined hands instead of up at his face because she'll cry if she looks at him right this second, and she doesn't want him to see it. "So I know you made it."

"'Kay." She swallows hard and looks up at him when his free hand comes up to cup her cheek, tipping her head back. "I'm gonna miss you, too," he admits just before he kisses her, and she squeezes his hand so hard that she makes her own little opal ring dig into her finger until it hurts.

He pulls away from her and is gone before she can say anything else, and she's actually grateful. The longer he stays, and the more she says, the harder this is going to be.

Puck falls asleep just about as soon as the plane takes off, but it isn't like it's restful sleep. He's having this weird ass dream where Rachel is jumping from building to building in the city, gliding between them like a flying squirrel or something. (She's even got her hair up in a ponytail that curls upwards at the end like a squirrel's tail.) But then the dude sitting in the seat next to Puck's shifts and elbows him hard in the bicep, which wakes him up and pisses him off since he isn't even _trying_ to use the armrest between their seats, and he can't get back to sleep before they're landing in Ohio.

Rachel tries to have a normal afternoon when she gets back into Manhattan from the airport. She goes to the laundromat and reads through an issue of _Vanity Fair_ with Gerard Butler on the cover while her clothes go through the spin cycle. (Reading this magazine always makes her feel older and somehow more wordly, even if she does flip past all of the financial articles in favor of the more entertainment-minded bits.) She puts everything away when she gets home and makes up the bed with clean, fresh sheets. She cleans the kitchen also, going through the fridge to get rid of any takeout that's past its prime, not to mention the last of a quart of milk and a dozen eggs. (Instead of throwing those away, she takes them to her neighbor across the hall with a quick explanation. Wasting food - even food she won't eat - is simply wrong.)

Her apartment feels bigger without Noah in it. She isn't sure that that's necessarily a good thing.

* * *

><p>Puck agrees to go back to Lima for a couple of weeks before school starts when his mom guilts him about spending the entire summer in New York and <em>'not calling me nearly enough, Noah.'<em> And sure, he could be in Columbus hanging out with Finn and Santana (which is actually kind of a can of worms that he's not sure he wants to open) and doing fuck all, but he can do fuck all in Lima _and_ have his mom cooking for him.

He spends his first day home sleeping till noon just because he's been way too fucking productive and responsible and shit this summer, and he only has so much time left in his life to be a lazy bastard. A guy's gotta take advantage of that shit. Abby is sitting at the kitchen table when he gets up, her laptop open and her feet propped up on one of the chairs in exactly the way their mom hates.

"Why's there no coffee?" he mumbles, glaring at her.

She rolls her eyes. "Because it's after noon," she answers, looking at him like he's the dumbest fucker on the planet. "Mom's been gone for hours, and I don't drink coffee."

Jesus, she sounds so much like Quinn that just stares at her for a minute before turning and walking out of the kitchen and straight out the front door, grabbing his keys as he goes. He's totally fucking spoiled after living with Rachel, and he really doesn't want to make his own coffee.

Starbucks it is.

The Cheerios are having an exhibition before they go to their Regional competition, and Puck's mom insists that he goes with her. He's known that Abby's been a Cheerio since tryouts in April, and he knows that she's been up and at school at six for practice every morning that he's been home, but it doesn't really click that she's a _Cheerio_ until she walks into the kitchen all dressed and ready for this exhibition thing. The uniform is the same, and apparently Crazy Sue Sylvester is still a fucking freak about curly ponytails, because her hair is pulled away from her face so tightly that he's pretty sure it's tugging her eyes up a bit.

"Nice skirt, Cherri-ho," he says before he can stop himself, though he regrets it the second it's out of his mouth. Not because his mom reaches out and smacks the back of his head (which she does), but because he starts thinking about the way he always looked at the cheerleaders in high school, not to mention how many of them he fucked.

And, you know, Quinn.

The idea that guys are going to be looking at _his baby sister_ like that makes him see red, and he can be objective enough to realize that Abby's kind of gorgeous and is definitely going to get stared at and propositioned and whatever else. Fuck.

Abby just glares at him over her shoulder - and seriously, Sylvester must teach them that expression, because it's like a fucking flashback and a half; even Brittany could pull that look out when she wanted to - and goes back to retying her shoe.

Being back in the gym at McKinley isn't weird or anything, not like he figured it would be. It's just a gym at the school that he went to, no more, no less. What is funny is the fact that he remembers the glee club performances in here more than he remembers basketball games, even after four years of playing. Nope, he's thinking about that Britney Spears bullshit that he kind of hated until they started running choreography and Quinn was straddling him on stage. And sure, she was glaring at him when they rehearsed, but who the fuck cares? The part where Brittany and Rachel like, writhed up against each other was the best; a guy doesn't just forget that shit.

The Cheerios have always been impressive athletes (he can admit it now), and it isn't a surprise that that's still the case. He isn't surprised to see how good his sister is either, which he tells her in the car on the way home. She doesn't say anything, and when he glances at her in the back seat, she's texting.

She leans against his door frame later, dressed in a pair of gray plaid pajama pants and a tee shirt with a little cartoon cheerleader on the front, and with her hair down and everything, she looks like his little sister again. "Thank you," she says quietly, and it takes him a second to realize what she's talking about.

He pauses the game of Bejeweled he was playing online (shut up) and looks up at her. "Look, just don't let any smart ass little punks talk you out of that skirt, okay?"

"Guys like you?" she quips with a smirk that's all Puckerman.

"Fuckin' right, Abby." Honestly, he was a dick when he was fifteen. "And like, Sylvester's fucking nuts, so don't let her get under your skin-"

"I know," she interrupts, shifting her weight. "Brittany told me, and I have a mind of my own."

"Brittany?"

"Kayla and I got ready for tryouts together," she explains, and Puck realizes that she's talking about Brittany's little sister. She and Abby have been friends for years; Puck used to 'help' Brittany babysit. (Or, you know, make out with her while the girls did whatever the hell.) "She was home, so she helped us, and I know all about Sue Sylvester."

Puck nods, and he thinks Abby will probably be okay. She's smarter than he ever was, for sure, and less worried about her reputation than Quinn was, and less bitchy (a little) than Santana was, so she can probably handle Sylvester better than he thinks. "Seriously though, I'll fuck a dude up," he tells her, getting back to where he started.

She just rolls her eyes and pushes off the doorway, calling, "Good night," over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>Rachel throws herself into her new semester, and even though she's technically taking fewer course hours (having managed to mostly catch up to where she should have been in the last year), she's busier than ever thanks to the supporting role she got in the autumn musical. They're doing <em>Kiss Me, Kate<em>, and Maggie is playing the lead, which she's incredibly smug about, but Rachel is happy to let her have it. The girl doesn't know it, but Rachel deliberately didn't audition for the lead, explaining to the director (who happens to be her private voice teacher, Dr. Weaver) that she felt a stronger connection to the so-called lesser role of Lois than that of Lilli. It's a gamble, yes, but she wants to show the faculty - and whoever they may be speaking with - that she's more interested in having the _right_ roles and performing them perfectly than she is in being a star.

The truth is, she wants both. She nearly always believes that the right role for her in any show is the lead, but this is about proving a point and making a statement. And yes, for this particular show, one could argue that Maggie's California-blonde good looks are better suited for the lead, though Rachel thinks her own voice is better for the part, versatile as she is.

And nothing is going to stop her from taking the lead in the spring musical, the last official show before the senior showcase in May. It's the one that, for all intents and purposes, really matters, the one that agents and casting directors and producers will remember when they're looking for fresh faces.

(She's heard rumors that they're considering doing _West Side Story_, and while there are always endless rumors about these things, Rachel hopes that it's true. She's always believed that she was made to be Maria, and she's certainly better suited to the role than Maggie is, who is the only person who could possibly challenge her here. Few shows could be more perfect for her, and she's failing more than a little at not getting her hopes up too high.)

She's taking a tap class as part of her requirements, and even though she took tap as a little girl and her body seems to remember the movements, it isn't exactly thrilled with being expected to do them. Between her morning yoga class, her afternoon tap class, and a rehearsal that takes her entire evening, she's sore and just plain exhausted, and while she could give up the yoga, she's a girl who needs the forced relaxation it provides. She doesn't need the exercise, but she does need the atmosphere, and she isn't willing to give it up.

She has a message on her phone from Christina when she gets out of rehearsal, something about it being Friday night and not becoming a theater nerd and, _'a bunch of us are going to this dive in Queens, so you should come.'_ Honestly, even if she did want to go all the way to Queens - which she definitely doesn't - she'd be asleep on her feet before midnight. She texts her regrets to Christina and promises that she'll make time to go out soon, which may or may not be a lie. School is more important than her social life, but if she can go out without negatively effecting classes or the musical, she certainly will.

She runs a bath when she gets home, adding a generous amount of vanilla-lavender-scented bubble bath. She opens a bottle of red wine and takes her glass into the bathroom, and she lights a few candles before flicking off the switch just to complete the atmosphere.

As long as she doesn't fall asleep in the tub and drown, it'll be perfect.

She lasts ten minutes and half of her glass of wine before she's calling Noah, and she's honestly surprised that she doesn't hear a bunch of noise in the background when he answers. She'd assumed that she would get his voice mail, given that it's a Friday night and he normally spends those in bars or at parties. "What are you doing?" she asks quietly.

"Nothing," Puck answers honestly, unless watching a basketball game on ESPN Classic and eating Doritos counts as doing something. Sometimes a guy just wants to be lazy, okay? "How was your rehearsal?"

"Long, and I know that everyone thought I was a diva in high school - even though Kurt and Mercedes both put me to shame, thank you very much - but Maggie is ridiculous," she tells him. "She nitpicks everyone else, but her own performance is far from flawless. It's infuriating."

"Tell me how you feel, baby."

"She's a bitch," Rachel adds flatly, making Puck snort out a laugh. "Honestly."

"What are you doing now?" he asks. He assumes she's at home, but her voice sounds sort of weird, like it's echoing.

"Taking a bubble bath and drinking wine," she answers easily. She knows exactly what she's doing, and she likes the way that Noah groans.

They aren't in a relationship, and they haven't talked about being exclusive, but Rachel isn't interested in pursuing anyone else, and she's fairly certain that Noah isn't either. They talk on the phone a couple of times a week, and they text one another multiple times a day, just silly, inconsequential things.

The idea of phone sex has been a bit of a point of contention between them. It just makes her feel...uncomfortable, the idea of Noah listening to her when she touches herself even though, as he's pointed out, he's heard it all before. He's practically begged her to let him 'talk her through it,' and it's absurd that she keeps saying no, especially since she quite likes doing the same for him. It's empowering, knowing that she can help him come with her words alone, by saying the right things to put the right images in his head. And yes, she's relieved some of her own...tension, so to speak, but it certainly isn't as good to do it yourself when you know how much better it is with someone else.

Right now, she's sore and tense and just a little bit loose thanks to the glass of wine she's nearly finished, and she thinks that maybe it's time to see if having his voice helps.

Her cheeks are burning before she even says anything, even though she's all alone in her apartment. "I miss you," she murmurs quietly, not really sure how to even broach the subject.

The second she said 'bubble bath,' Puck pushed his hand into the front of his sweats and palmed his cock, 'cause that visual...fuck. "Yeah?" She hums a little. "You been thinkin' about me?"

"Yes." She swallows the last of her glass of wine and licks her lips, taking a deep breath. "Noah, could you-" She cuts herself off. "I want..."

"What do you want, baby?" he asks, his voice low and knowing and so sexy that it makes her feel more bold than she actually is.

"Could you talk me through it?" she practically whispers, borrowing his words.

"Fuck, Rachel," he breathes out, tightening his fist around his cock. "Yeah, I can."

She practically falls into bed after she hangs up the phone and manages to get herself out of the tub, and she sleeps more deeply than she has in weeks.

She doesn't even mind admitting to Noah that he was right all along when they talk on Saturday afternoon.

* * *

><p>Puck's supposed to be working on a proposal for one of his classes, but school is wearing him the fuck out and he was sort of dozing before his phone rang with Rachel's name on the display.<p>

"I'm not coming home for Thanksgiving," she announces when he answers, and even half-asleep, he can hear the tears in her voice.

"What? Why?"

She sniffles even though she thinks it's disgusting and curls further into the corner of her couch. "My dad is dating someone," she says quietly. "He called to tell me that he invited James to Thanksgiving dinner. So I won't be there."

"Rachel."

"Daddy hasn't even been gone three years, Noah." Her voice isn't strong enough to do much more than whisper, which she hates. "I don't understand."

Jesus. It seems like this girl is always throwing shit at him that he just doesn't know how to deal with. He really doesn't know what to say to any of this. The only thing he's really sure of is that it sucks that now he doesn't have any idea when he'll see her next, because he knows that he isn't going to be able to change her mind about this if she's already made it up.

"He's probably lonely," he finally says. "You can't really be mad at him for not wanting to be all alone, Rach."

"But Thanksgiving?" She can understand him finding someone else, she really, really can. It hurts, and she hates it, but she understands. But inviting that man to be part of their most important family holiday? That isn't okay, and Noah must understand that, because he doesn't say anything, just sighs into the phone quietly. "I've never even heard him talk about the guy."

"I bet my mom knows something about it, if you want to call her," Puck offers, and he's actually sort of surprised that his mom hasn't mentioned the guy David's dating.

"No." She sighs. "I need to get into rehearsal."

"All right. Hey, call me later?"

"Sure."

It's weird for her to hang up without saying goodbye, and if Puck hadn't already been able to tell that this thing with her dad was messing with her, that would've been a dead giveaway. It's probably going to get him into shit with someone - he doesn't know who, but someone - but he calls his mom to see if she's heard anything about David dating some guy named James.

"James who?" Marlene asks, sounding a little too interested for Puck's liking.

"I don't know, and don't say anything," he says firmly. "I'm serious, Mom. If you don't know, it's because David doesn't want anyone to know, and he deserves that."

"Noah, I do have some concern for others' privacy," she insists, which makes Puck roll his eyes, because she really, really doesn't. He thinks she'll actually manage to keep this to herself though, because she loves Rachel and she knows how hard the last couple of years were on the girl.

Puck's quiet for a moment, then he sighs. "How pissed are you gonna be if I'm not home for Thanksgiving?"

When he steps off the airplane in New York this time, she's waiting for him in jeans and brown knee-high boots with a cream-colored sweater that looks so soft he seriously wants to touch it. He drops his duffel bag on the ground when he gets to her so he can pull her into a hug, running his hands over her back. (The sweater is soft, but then his fingers tangle in her hair, and that's even softer.)

Rachel just lets herself melt into his chest and the way that his arms are wrapped around her. Other than cursory conversations in which she reassures him that she's alive and well, she hasn't talked to her dad in weeks. Mike is back in the city, but they're both so busy that they aren't able to spend time together like they used to. She always thought that the fact that you could never be alone in New York City meant that you could never be lonely, but she's learning just how wrong she is. She's been incredibly lonely, and having Noah here is like having a weight lifted off of her chest.

She finally pulls away to look up at him. "I'm so glad you're here," she says, her hands clutching at the sides of his coat.

He leans down to kiss her, but he just brushes his lips against hers. (If he kisses her like he wants to, he's going to want to have her naked, and he knows how long it takes to get to her apartment.) "Me too."

She laces their fingers together once he's shouldered his bag and starts leading him back to the exit. "How was your flight?"

Puck scoffs. "Do you know what fucking bullshit it is to fly during Thanksgiving?"

She laughs not only because he's right, but because it's just so normal, and she's missed him so much.

She's ordered most of the meal from a local restaurant, not because she isn't capable of cooking it, but because she has no desire to roast a turkey or prepare dressing. Of course, when Noah told her that he was coming (that he'd already gotten a non-refundable ticket, so he was coming whether she liked it or not), she called Marlene, first to apologize, then to find out if there was anything in particular that the Puckermans ate on Thanksgiving.

That's how she spent all of Wednesday morning making something called pumpkin doughnut muffins, which are really just pumpkin muffins dipped in melted butter and rolled in cinnamon-sugar.

"It smells like Thanksgiving in here," Noah says when they walk into her apartment, turning to face her with wide eyes while he shrugs off his coat.

Rachel's smiling when she finishes locking the door and turns to face him. "I got a recipe from your mom," she admits, unbuttoning her red coat and laying it over the back of an armchair.

He stares at her for a moment. "You made those muffins," he says when it all comes together in his head. She just keeps smiling, which is a yes, and he knows that with the way Rachel bakes, they'll be just as good as his mom's. He drops his bag and reaches for her, setting one hand on the small of her back to pull her close and sinking the other into her hair, tilting her head so he can kiss her the way he wants to this time. He sips at her lips, deepening the kiss slowly, bit by bit, until his tongue is sliding against hers and she's whimpering into his mouth.

"God, Noah," she breathes, pulling away and blinking up at him. "I missed you."

He doesn't say anything, just nips at her lips and starts walking backwards, pulling her with him to her bedroom until he can push her down onto the bed. "I like these boots," he tells her when he kneels in front of her to unzip them, tugging them off her feet one by one. He smirks up at her when he sees her pink argyle socks. "Of course."

"Don't make fun of me," she giggles, pushing at his chest with one foot while he pulls the sock off the other. The laugh dies in her throat when he sets his hand on her shoulder and pushes her onto her back, his fingers going to work on the button of her jeans immediately. "Noah."

"I like this sweater, too," Puck says, doing his best to appreciate and ignore the look on her face. It's fucking hot, because he can tell he's driving her crazy, but if he really thinks about it, he's going to lose his shit and this little thing he's got going is all going to be for nothing. Instead, he slides his hands down over her arms, then pushes them up her sweater slowly, her skin hot under his palms. "It's soft."

"It's cashmere," she manages after he's pulled it over her head, and she can tell that he really likes it when he makes the effort to toss it over the chair in the corner instead of just dropping it to the floor like her jeans. She watches him when he pulls his shirt over his head, swallowing hard at the sight of his bare chest. "Noah, please."

He really wants to take his time here, but she's looking at him all desperately, and she's wearing this little satin tank top thing that's almost the same color as her skin, and he hasn't been with her - or anyone else - since the last time he was here.

Fuck it.

He unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans fall to the floor before moving to lay on top of her, pushing her tank top up over her head, leaving her in just her panties. "So pretty, baby," he murmurs, running the palm of his hand between her breasts.

He's barely touching her, and it's making her crazy. She really isn't sure how he's holding it together, but his self-control is starting to frustrate her. She presses her hips up against his, groaning along with him when she feels how hard he is between her legs. "Please don't tease." She's practically whining, but if ever a situation called for whining, this is it. "I need you."

"Tell me what you want, Rachel," he murmurs, his lips skimming up her jaw until he's nipping at the hinge of it with his teeth.

"Noah."

"Tell me," he repeats, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. He wants to hear her say the words.

"You're mean," she murmurs, making him laugh. "Fuck me," she begs, putting her hand on his cheek and making him look at her. Her eyes are wide and dark, her lips parted as she breathes hard. "Please, Noah."

He doesn't make her ask again.

* * *

><p>He eats three of those muffins in about thirty seconds standing there in her kitchen. He's just wearing his boxers and she's in his long-sleeved tee shirt, sitting on the counter and watching him eat while she sips from a glass of water.<p>

"Is there anything in particular you want to do in the city while you're here?" she asks, handing him the glass of water once it looks like he's done eating like a heathen.

"You," he answers before he can stop himself. Thankfully, she just shakes her head and laughs. "This semester's been so fucking busy, we could spend the weekend hanging out and that'd be the shit." He means it, and he knows that her semester has been even more insane than his, especially since her musical opens in two weeks.

She hooks her feet behind his thighs and pulls him closer, draping her arms over his shoulders when he's right in front of her. "I like that idea," she says just before she kisses him.

Thanksgiving day with Rachel is kind of hilarious, because even though she ordered a ton of food (that she's up really fucking early to go get, though she brings Starbucks when she comes back, so he forgives her for the alarm), she's still in the kitchen all morning, clattering around and doing whatever while Puck sits on her couch and watches football like she told him to. She insists that they sit at the table, which she's set with cream-colored plates and dark red cloth napkins, and it's actually really nice.

Noah insists that he needs a nap after dinner, so she lies down beside him with the novel that she's reading, though she doesn't even make it through an entire chapter before she's having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She gives up, setting the book on her bedside table and lifting Noah's arm so she can curl into his side, ignoring the little smirk she sees on his lips.

It's dark when Puck wakes up. Rachel's beside him, the light from her phone practically blinding him as she plays with it. "Have you called him?"

"No," she answers quietly. "I talked to him yesterday though."

"Rach."

"I don't want my family to change again," she whispers. That's what this is about as much as anything. They worked together, the three of them, and she hates that that changed. She _hates_ it. The idea of someone new coming in, bringing his expectations and his opinions and his good intentions...

She just doesn't think she can handle it.

"What would you do if your mom started dating someone?"

Puck shrugs his shoulders. "Now, probably nothing as long as he wasn't a jackass and Abby didn't hate him."

"Now?" she repeats.

"She's dated a couple of guys over the years," he answers with a smirk. "I scared most of 'em off." She raises her eyebrows. "The last time my mom was dating some guy, I stole an ATM with her car."

Rachel feels her eyes go wide. She'd always assumed that that entire incident was some latent anger over Quinn and their baby, though the details had never quite added up. For example, why would he have used his mother's car to commit a crime like that when he had a truck of his own? She'd ask for more details, but she doesn't think that she wants them; sometimes, it's just easier to be ignorant. It's enough for her to know that his juvenile record was expunged.

"Give it time," Noah offers. "You're here, and he's there alone, and...fuck, baby, just give him a chance."

"My dad or James?" she asks, her mouth twisting a little when she says the name.

"Your dad. Who gives a fuck about James?"

She laughs a little in spite of herself, dropping her phone and curling into his side again, pressing a kiss to his chest through his tee shirt. "Thank you," she whispers, closing her eyes when she feels his lips on top of her head.

* * *

><p>Puck wakes up alone in Rachel's bed on Friday morning, which sucks. He woke up with filthy ideas, and it's hard to follow through on that when Rachel isn't even in the room.<p>

But then he hears her voice floating down the little hallway, and he catches what's obviously the end of a conversation, based on the _'I will. I love you, too. Bye, Dad.'_ that he hears.

He feigns sleep when she comes back into the room, slipping into bed beside him and rubbing her feet together the way he knows she does when they're cold. He mumbles her name when she presses herself against him. Her hand is cold when she slides it across his stomach, but it kind of feels good, so he doesn't say anything.

"Good morning," she whispers, pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw. She woke up early and wasn't able to go back to sleep, so she decided to take his advice and call her father. Now, she feels better, lighter than she has since she deciding that she wasn't going back to Lima for the holiday. Since Noah's at least partially responsible, she thinks he deserves a reward.

He groans when she pushes her hand past the waistband of his boxers and wraps her hand around him, her teeth teasing at his earlobe when she breathes out his name. "Fuck, baby."

Apparently Rachel has dirty ideas of her own, and he's totally down for letting her do whatever she wants, especially when she pushes her panties down off her hips, waiting for him to follow suit with his boxers before she straddles his hips and tugs her nightgown over her head.

* * *

><p>"Thank you," Rachel says quietly when they're waiting for his flight to board Sunday afternoon. "For coming."<p>

They're standing outside, because even though it's fucking cold, it's way too loud in that place, and her crazy ass insisted that they leave for the airport way earlier than they really needed to. Her hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat, and he's got his arms wrapped around her, trying to keep her from freezing.

"I didn't want you to spend Thanksgiving alone," he tells her honestly. "And it was an excuse to come see you."

She stands on her toes to press her lips to his again, her fingers grasping at the inside of his pockets. She wants to tell him that she loves him, but she thinks that he'll take it the wrong way, that he'll think she means that she's _in love_ with him, and she isn't sure that she is. It's just that he's her best friend, and no one has ever been as good to her as he is, and she does love him. She settles for pushing herself closer to him and kissing him again.

He insists that they go inside when he notices that her nose is all red, and he buys her an herbal tea at Starbucks before his flight is called and he has to say goodbye.

"Call me-"

"When I get back," he interrupts, winking at her when she pouts. "I will, baby."

He's gone before she can say anything else, but she doesn't really hate that he knew what she was going to say. She likes that he knows her.


	14. Chapter 14

The Ohio State Cheerleading Championships are held at OSU, which means that Puck doesn't have any excuse to get out of going, even with finals the week after next.

Santana agrees to go with him and his mom pretty easily, and Puck knows that even though she didn't want to cheer in college, she misses it a little. "Sylvester's fucking crazy," she tells him when he asks her about it, "but she knows what she's doing. And I like to win."

He's pretty sure there's a little more to it than then, but whatever.

His mom shows up at the house on Saturday morning in a red and white tee shirt emblazoned with _Cheerio Mom_ and a carload of food that Puck has to make three different trips to get in the house, and if he would have known that her coming up here would be like this, he would have been inviting her way more often over the last few years.

He puts on one of his old McKinley athletic tee shirts out of solidarity or whatever, and Santana's wearing a red v-neck tee shirt with her jeans when she comes out of her room with a set of poms that she hands to his mom. "They're fun," she offers with a shrug.

Puck can admit that he gets sucked into it a little bit, and it's different than it was back in high school. In high school, watching the cheerleaders meant watching the way their skirts spun away from their thighs when they moved. And that's still there, but there's also the fact that this is his baby sister and a bunch of her little friends, and none of the girls on this squad were there when Puck was still in high school.

They're actually really impressive, and definitely better than the teams they're competing against, so it isn't a surprise that they win.

The four of them go for dinner at Puck and Santana's favorite Mexican place in Columbus. ("Fuck the Cheerio diet," Abby says, earning a glare from her mother and a smirk from Santana.)

"How's Rachel?" his mom asks quietly when Santana and Abby are distracted, tearing apart one of the other team's routine

"She's good," he answers, and it isn't a lie. Like, she's stupidly busy and stressed and shit over the musical, and her finals are coming up, too. Hers are different though, because she only has one exam and the rest are performance-based. It is, however, a weird question for his mom to ask, because they just had this conversation a week ago when Puck got back from New York and called her to let her know he was home.

"She's okay with her father dating again?" she asks, her voice neutral enough that neither Abby nor Santana register that she's speaking about anything more interesting than the weather. It's kind of awesome how she can do that.

He shrugs. "She's trying to be."

"I still haven't heard anything about it," his mom says, and Puck just stares at her, because...so? "I worry about her, that's all."

"You can call her, you know," he reminds her, sort of playing it off, but really, he gets it. Fuck, Rachel's supposed to be the one who worries, but he can't help worrying about whether or not she's okay out there by herself. And yeah, Chang is around (and Puck's reminded him that he needs to be keeping an eye on her a couple of times), and he knows that Rachel can take care of herself. She can't even lie about it, because her voice does this weird pitchy thing when she lies that he's pretty sure she hasn't ever noticed before.

That line of conversation goes all to hell when Abby asks him something about straight skirts versus fly-away skirts - as if he gives a fuck - and she and Santana are both looking at him expectantly. They both roll their eyes when he tells them that he doesn't care (true), and drag his mom into this conversation that's so fucking stupid that he almost asks the waitress to bring him a beer or a shot of tequila or something so he doesn't have to listen to it sober.

He kind of hates it, and the only thing that could make him hate (love) it more is if Rachel was here with them.

* * *

><p>The night that the musical opens is the culmination of weeks - months, really - of hard work, and the fact that the show goes off beautifully is the best kind of reward for all that work, and after the curtain call, Rachel even finds herself wrapped up in a hug with Maggie.<p>

Dad comes in for opening night and to celebrate Hanukkah a bit early, and even though Rachel doesn't have a lot of free time, they manage to spend the next afternoon walking along Fifth Avenue to take in the window displays before going for tea at a little French-style cafe.

She takes a little sip of her peppermint tea, watching her father take a bite of his slice of chocolate mousse cake, then takes a deep breath. "Tell me about James," she says quietly, holding his gaze when he looks up at her.

James is a dermatologist who just opened a new practice in Lima. He shares a love of musical theater with her father, and the two of them went together to see a performance of _Carousel_ done by the local community theater. He's something of a confirmed bachelor, though he raised his nephew, Cole, after his sister and her husband were killed in a car accident when the boy was six. He's teaching Dad about German beer, and they're planning to go see _Singing in the Rain_ when it plays at the theater downtown.

"We're just friends," he says quietly, watching Rachel sip her tea. "I'm not ready to date anyone, not anywhere close, but it's nice not to be alone all the time."

Noah was right, and Rachel feels horribly guilty. She pitched a fit like a petulant child, and in the process, probably not only ruined her father's holiday, but the Puckermans' as well. The only thing that saved her from spending her own holiday alone was the fact that Noah took mercy on her and made the trip to the city. And all because she didn't want to take the time to listen to her father talk about his new friend, instead choosing to jump to conclusions about his relationship.

"He sounds lovely," she says honestly, because he does, and her father deserves to hear it.

"I think you'd like him."

She traces her finger around the rim of her teacup. "I'm sorry about Thanksgiving," she whispers. "That was selfish of me."

"Oh, angelfish," he sighs, and when she look up at him, his eyes are soft. "You don't need to apologize."

She has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek when she nods, because he's wrong. She absolutely needs to apologize, and this is exactly the sort of thing that Daddy never would have let her get away with. He would have told her to stop being a brat and ordered her to get on that plane home, and he would have made quite sure that she understood that her behavior was unacceptable. God, he'd be so ashamed of her right now.

He hugs her just before he gets into the cab to head back to his hotel before heading to the airport, and Rachel finds herself wiping tears off her cheeks while she watches the car disappear around the corner at the end of the block.

Saturday night is their second-to-last show, and even though she's filled with energy when it's over, she declines going out with the rest of the cast. It doesn't matter how pumped she is from the performance, she knows that her body needs rest to recover so that her last show is stellar. She knows that the graduate showcase in May is designed to help students make contacts in the industry, but there are certainly directors and agents in the audience during these shows, and she isn't going to allow herself to appear anything less than perfect when she's on stage.

She changes into jeans and a sweater and takes off her makeup, pulling her hair up into a ponytail for the bus ride from campus back to her apartment, waving off Charlotte's pleading about _'just one drink!'_

There are still people milling around outside the theater, people who, in just a few years, she's imagining will be waiting outside the stage door of a Broadway theater and hoping to snap a photo of Rachel Berry, or maybe to get her autograph.

She is, admittedly, a little caught up in her fantasy, which is why she's startled when she hears a woman call her first name. She turns in the direction of the voice, then freezes when she sees who it is.

Shelby Corcoran steps towards Rachel with her hands in the pockets of her knee-length dark wool coat. "You steal the show," she says when she gets close enough that she doesn't have to raise her voice to be heard. "The lead. She's a good singer, but you outshine her."

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asks when she finds her voice. The compliments don't even really register. Nothing registers beyond the fact that this woman is standing in front of her. Here, at her school, in New York City. _Her_ city.

"I've been keeping up with you," Shelby says, though it really isn't an answer. "I've seen all of your performances since you got to the city." Rachel doesn't say anything, because she doesn't know _what_ to say. "I heard about your father," she says quietly. "I'm sorry. Andrew was-"

"Shut up," Rachel snaps, her voice harsh and too loud. Shelby doesn't get to talk about her daddy.

"I'm sorry," Shelby repeats simply, then she sighs quietly. "Rachel, can you please just hear me out?"

She wants to say no, wants to tell Shelby to go away, to go to hell, to leave her alone and never, ever come back.

But she can't say anything, and before she regains the ability to speak, Shelby is talking again.

"I know that I wasn't there for you before, when you thought you needed me, but I've thought about you every day since the day you were born. I'm in a different place now. I got married, and we live in Connecticut." She smiles, but it's a little sad. "I know we can't have the relationship that you wanted, Rachel, but I'd like a chance to get to know you."

Rachel starts shaking her head slowly. "I can't do this now," She could - and perhaps should - explain herself more, could point out that she has another show and then a week of finals to get through before she'll even have a chance to breathe.

Instead, she turns on her heel and starts to walk away, leaving Shelby standing there.

"Rachel, wait!" She keeps walking until Shelby catches her shoulder, and she only stops then because to physically wrench herself away from the woman seems extreme. Rachel is suddenly very, very tired. "Take this," Shelby says, holding out a business card. "If you change your mind."

Rachel nods tightly, then walks away quickly, her footfalls silent on the sidewalk though she can feel them reverberating through her entire body.

She pulls Shelby's card from her pocket when she's sitting on the bus. Her name is Shelby Morris now. She's apparently teaching at some school called Alderdale Academy in Hartford, and if the crest printed on the card is any indication, it's a fancy private school. Her contact information at the school is printed there, and written below is another number, a number that Rachel knows Shelby wants her to call.

Sometimes, Rachel wonders if the universe is conspiring against her, punishing her for something she doesn't even know she did, like the opposite of the song from _The Sound of Music_. She just feels like she's had more than her share of heartache involving parents, and it isn't fair. She has no idea what she's supposed to do about this, about Shelby wanting to get to know her. Rachel gave up on the idea of having a mother a long time ago - right about the time that Shelby made it very clear that she didn't want Rachel to be a part of her family and adopted a baby - and this just muddles things up again. She just lost a parent, a _real_ parent, and now...she just doesn't know what to do

She stares at the card for a few blocks, not really seeing it, then tucks it into her wallet, burying it behind her old OSU student ID and a loyalty punch card from the cafe in Brooklyn where she stops every time she goes out to see Mike.

Instead of making herself a cup of chamomile tea and sipping it while she watches episodes of _The Daily Show_ that are saved on her DVR when she gets home, she swallows a Tylenol PM and lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling until she sleep aid kicks in and turns her mind off.

* * *

><p>Just before she steps out on stage on Sunday evening, Rachel wonders if Shelby is sitting out there in the audience, and she feels a rush of something hot and mean go all through her. She's going to think this every time she performs from now on, and how dare Shelby say that to her and get into her head like this. She pushes it aside and throws herself into her performance.<p>

The show is flawless, of course, but then Rachel catches herself attempting to see past the lights out into the audience during the curtain call, and she's angry all over again.

But Rachel Berry can compartmentalize, and she has a wrap party to attend, at which there could very well be professional contacts who can help her jump start her career. She has a music history exam tomorrow, and a final performance for her character study class on Tuesday. She has a tap performance this week, and the culmination of her styles workshop, and she simply doesn't have the _time_ to devote to thinking about the woman who gave birth to her.

She watches her face in the mirror as she removes her stage makeup and decides that she is going to take things as they come this week. She has a schedule for finals week, a plan of action, and she isn't going to stray from that plan or allow herself to be distracted. She's so, so close, and this isn't the time to take her eyes off the prize.

At the party at a bar in SoHo, Dr. Weaver introduces Rachel to Lorelai Warner, an agent who represents more than a few well-known Broadway stars. Rachel recognizes the opportunity before her.

"You're magnetic on stage," Lorelai comments, watching Rachel thoughtfully. "Dr. Weaver mentioned that you auditioned specifically for Lois, but I don't understand why you wouldn't want the lead."

Rachel knows that this is some sort of test. "I think I'm better suited to the role I played," she explains, giving the answer she's been giving since her audition. She can tell though, that Lorelai is looking for more. "I felt like my chances of being cast as the lead in the spring musical were better if I hadn't just played a lead. I suppose you could look at it as a strategic decision."

Lorelai looks at her appraisingly. "Smart," she says simply before taking a sip of her drink. "It was nice to meet you, Rachel."

It's absurd, but the conversation feels like a victory.

She won't let someone who couldn't be bothered with her for twenty-two years mess up what she's been working for for so long.

* * *

><p>Her resolve doesn't falter until Friday, after she's finished all of her finals and doesn't have anything pressing occupying her mind. She's up early, out of habit, so she goes to a yoga class for a bit of stress relief.<p>

By the end, when she's lying in savasana, tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she knows that she has to make the call if only because she can't live with the uncertainty. The not knowing, the what if-

That would be worse than being rejected again, even knowing how much that rejection hurt the first time around.

* * *

><p>They meet in a Starbucks on the Upper West Side. (Rachel doesn't want Shelby in her own neighborhood, doesn't want to associate the woman with her home here.)<p>

"What changed?" Rachel asks when they're both sitting with their drinks. She isn't at all interested in drinking her herbal tea, and she has her hands folded in her lap so she doesn't start picking at the little cardboard sleeve.

"Once I got the family I'd always imagined, I realized that I didn't have to sacrifice a relationship with you to have that," Shelby answers simply. Her hand comes up to brush her hair aside, and Rachel notices a sizeable diamond on her left hand. "I grew up, Rachel."

She scoffs. "Weren't you supposed to do that before you adopted a child?" It's mean, but Shelby doesn't exactly inspire sweetness in her.

"Probably." There's a wry smile on her lips. "The picture I had in my head was a fantasy, Rachel. It's something I've always done, built these elaborate scenarios in my head only to have them smashed to bits, but I can't help it. But then I got Beth, and I met George and fell in love." Her expression softens. "We got a dog, and then he was transferred to Connecticut for work, and I got my house and my garden." She takes a little sip of her drink. "It was exactly how I pictured it. Perfect. And every single day, I still thought about you."

"Living in your fantasies must be genetic," Rachel says evenly. "What kind of dog do you have?"

"A cocker spaniel that Beth chose from a shelter in Cincinnati. Her name is Aurora."

"_Sleeping Beauty_?"

Shelby nods, smiling fondly. "Beth's favorite."

Rachel wonders if it's because Aurora is the one she looks the most like, the way that most little girl's favorite Disney princess is the one they most resemble. (Rachel's favorite is Belle.) Did Beth inherit Quinn's blonde, graceful looks, or does she take after her father? At five years old - and god, did all of that really happen only six years ago? - is she the chubby child that Quinn apparently was, however hard that is to picture?

"What do you want from me, Shelby?" It's the first time she's said the woman's name in years, and it feels strange on her tongue.

"To get to know you," she answers simply.

"I don't need a mother."

It just sort of slips out without her permission, but it's true. Once, she believed that she did need a mother, and that she needed Shelby to be that for her, but she knows better now. Her fathers have given her everything that she needs.

"I know that," Shelby says quietly, nodding her head. "I just want to know who you are as a person, Rachel."

Rachel realizes that she's picking at the sleeve on her cup; she doesn't know when she started doing that. "I have an appointment in midtown in an hour," she lies, giving herself an out, a very specific amount of time to have to sit here. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

><p>Rachel keeps her meeting with Shelby to herself, even though she talks to both her dad and Noah later that day, though she doesn't quite know why.<p>

Their conversation was superficial at best. She learned that Shelby teaches elementary music and is in charge of the children's choir, and she told Shelby about her time at NYU. They didn't discuss Beth or Shelby's husband or Rachel's father, and when Rachel talked about how she spent her summer, she didn't mention Noah's name at all.

It's all very strange, and she doesn't quite know what to make of any of it.

One morning, Rachel gets a call from Shelby when she's in a yoga class. (She finds that she's craving the relaxation that yoga gives her more and more lately, and without school, she's able to indulge that craving almost daily.) Shelby's message says that she's going to be in the city all afternoon doing Christmas shopping, and if Rachel's available, she'd love to meet her for dinner.

They make small talk, discussing traffic and tourists and how difficult it can be to find the perfect gift when you don't know someone well. (That bit seems a little too on-point for comfort, but Rachel ignores it.) Rachel has taken exactly two bites of her pasta when Shelby sets her fork down and looks across the table at her seriously.

"We're going to be in Ohio for Christmas, but we're having a party at our house on Saturday night with some family friends and work colleagues," she says carefully. "I'd like it if you'd consider coming."

Rachel's glad that she's already swallowed the bite she had in her mouth, because she thinks her throat might be closing up. "I don't-"

"I understand if you don't want to," Shelby interrupts. "You don't have to feel obligated at all, but the invitation is there, and you can certainly bring your boyfriend along. I'll text you the address and the other information."

They haven't discussed Rachel's romantic life, and it's interesting that Shelby assumes there's a boyfriend.

Shelby changes the subject then, talking about the holiday concert that the choir she's in charge of put on and how difficult it is to find good Jewish music for such a concert.

"Does Beth sing?" Rachel asks. It's the first time she's asked about the little girl.

Shelby smiles fondly. "She does. I suppose that makes sense, given who her parents are."

Too much. It's too much, and Rachel quickly changes the subject to an article she read in the _Times_ about a disease that seems to be attacking cedar trees in the Northeastern United States. She knows she's being entirely transparent, but she can't find it in herself to care, and Shelby doesn't say anything about it, just following along with the line of conversation without any comment.

She thinks about Noah during her entire trip home, and by the time she gets off the subway, she's decided that she should tell him about all of this, about Shelby finding her on campus and the meetings that they've had. She doesn't know if she should go to this Christmas party, or even if she wants to, and she'd like to know what he thinks about all of it.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he says when he answers, his voice low. "You suck for not coming home."

"I wish I could," she breathes, curling her legs up beside her on the couch. "I miss you."

"Are you okay?" Puck asks. She sounds strange, sort of sad and wistful, and he hates it. He wants her to be happy like, all the time.

"It's just been a weird day," she answers. He can tell that she's lying.

"Rach."

She makes a noise that's almost a laugh. "It's nothing."

She can't tell him. Shelby is her problem, and if Rachel's going to be an adult, she needs to learn how to take care of her own problems. Besides, this would dredge up all sorts of other issues for Noah, issues about Quinn and his daughter and the boy that he was before he became the man that he is, and it isn't fair of her to ask him to deal with that when he doesn't actually have to.

"I almost bought some mistletoe today," she tells him, changing the subject. "Then I realized that the only person I want to kiss won't be here to appreciate it."

He makes a noise from the back of his throat. "Baby."

* * *

><p>She decides to go to Shelby's party for a couple of reasons, the most important of which is that she wants to see what the woman's life is really like now that she 'has it all,' the things that she left Rachel behind to go get for herself.<p>

It's a sick sort of curiosity, she knows, but it is what it is.

She asks Mike to go with her because she trusts him more than anyone else she knows in the city by far, and, to a certain extent, he understands the history there. He wasn't involved, but he saw what happened the last time that Shelby came into her life, even if he was observing from a distance.

"Are you sure you want to go to this thing?" he asks after she's told him everything that's happened in the last couple of weeks. She's sitting on the end of his bed with her legs crossed one over the other while he leans against the headboard, watching her.

"I feel like I have to," she tells him. "I need to know."

"Rachel, have you told your dad about this?" She shakes her head, and his expression hardens a little. "Have you told Puck?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with them. My dad will worry about me, and it'll bring up all that stuff for Noah. This is for me to deal with." She sighs quietly. "If you don't want to go with me, it's fine. I just didn't want to go alone."

Mike shakes his head at her. "I think it's a bad idea to keep this a secret," he tells her seriously, then huffs out a breath. "What am I supposed to wear to this thing?"

Mike borrows a car from one of his friends so they don't have to worry about the train schedule, and Rachel wears a deep blue wrap dress with long sleeves and a pair of nude colored heels.

Mike reaches across the center console to take her hand when they drive into Hartford. "We can go back whenever you want, Rach."

She nods, but she doesn't say anything. She's been second-guessing her decision to come here since the moment she made it, but she isn't going to be able to live with herself if she doesn't follow through. It's something like a catch-22.

Mike lets out a low whistle when he turns into the cobblestone driveway the GPS directed him to. "What does her husband do?" he asks, looking up at the enormous two-story house.

"I don't know," Rachel answers, realizing for the first time that she never bothered to ask and Shelby didn't volunteer the information. The roof is outlined in white twinkle lights, and she can see an enormous Christmas tree framed in a bay window to the right of the front door. Rachel catches sight of a menorah silhouetted in another window, unlit because Hanukkah ended a week ago.

Shelby smiles when she opens the door. "I'm glad you decided to come, Rachel."

It isn't as awkward as Rachel had feared. She and Mike are a bit young for the crowd, maybe, but no one behaves that way. She knows that Shelby assumes that Mike is her boyfriend, but she isn't interested in correcting the woman. They meet George, Shelby's husband, and learn that he works in management at a national software company. Rachel sips a glass of champagne and has a conversation with one of Shelby's teacher friends about some of the shows that are currently on Broadway, though she doesn't question why Rachel is so knowledgable. (Or who the hell she is, for that matter, and Rachel wonders if anyone here has been filled in on the particulars of her relationship to Shelby.)

Coming back from the restroom, Rachel nearly walks right into a little blonde girl in a puffy purple dress who's dancing near the Christmas tree. Beth.

"Hi," Rachel greets quietly. "I like your dress."

"Thank you," Beth says sweetly. "Purple is my favorite color."

"I like it, too."

Beth peers at her. "Who are you?"

_I'm the daughter your mother had before you, the one she didn't want. The one you replaced._ "I'm Rachel. And you're Beth?"

"How did you know that?"

Rachel smiles. "I'm a good guesser."

"My daddy tells me that I shouldn't guess when I do my homework," Beth says seriously.

Rachel feels her heart break a little. There are so many implications in that sentence for her. Too many. "That's good advice," she manages. "It was nice to meet you, Beth," she says quickly before walking away to find Mike. It's time to go, right now.

He doesn't say anything until they're on the highway heading back towards the city. "Are you all right?"

No. "I'm fine."

They're both quiet on the drive back into the city. Rachel starts counting the mile markers, noting which ones are missing along the way, all an effort to keep herself from thinking too seriously about what they just saw. If she thinks about it too much, she's going to cry, and she's determined not to do that until she's alone. (She doesn't want to worry Mike any more than she already has.)

The tears begin when she's in the elevator, and even though she's doing her best to ignore them, they don't seem to want to stop. Through her entire bedtime routine - from changing her clothes to checking the locks on the door before she turns off all the lights - silent tears slip down her cheeks.

She reaches for her phone in the dark and dials Noah without really even thinking about it. She doesn't want to be alone right now, and Noah has become the person she calls. For nearly everything.

He sounds tired when he answers. "I'm sorry I woke you up,"

"'S'okay," he mumbles. "'S'goin' on?"

"I had a weird dream," she lies. She wants to talk to him, but she doesn't want to burden him with all of this. She doesn't really want to lie either, but it seems the lesser of two evils. "Now I can't get back to sleep."

"You wanna tell me about it?" he offers. When she was little, Abby sometimes had these really bizarre dreams, like the one about flamingoes pecking off her toes, and sometimes she would come crawl into bed with Puck and tell him about them. Talking about them sort of highlighted the fact that they were weird instead of scary so she could fall asleep again, and then Puck would carry her back to her own bed.

"I don't really remember anything. It was just strange, you know?" Noah makes a noise that she assumes is an agreement. "I wish you were here."

"Me too, baby."

"Tell me something silly," Rachel requests. She's too far inside her own head, and Noah's always been good at distracting her with the most absurd things. This thing she does where she calls him when she can't sleep is far from new.

He tells her about the Mario Kart tournament he and Abby have set up for winter break. There are elaborate rules, because it involves each course and each character. As absurd as it is, it sounds like a lot of fun, and it pulls her out of her own thoughts enough that she feels like she'll actually be able to sleep if she hangs up the phone.

"You're sure?" he asks when she tells him that. She still sounds weird.

"I'm sure," she confirms. "Thank you. For being so good to me." He's been so good to her for so long, and sometimes she thinks that she's taking it for granted. Today especially, she doesn't feel like she deserves to have him. (Insomuch as she _has_ him.)

"Baby." Puck kind of loves it when she gets all sentimental, even though she's worrying him a little right now. "You deserve it. Fuck, you deserve better than me."

"No," she whispers. She doesn't deserve him at all. "Good night, Noah."

* * *

><p>Puck's spending winter break doing a whole lot of nothing in Lima, mostly because his mom wanted him there. She's convinced that he's going to move halfway across the country after he graduates (she's probably right), and she's trying to keep him close while she can. His days are full of sleeping in, his mom's food, and ignoring Abby's bullshit.<p>

He's fucking around on Facebook when he sees that Rachel's been tagged in a new photo. He looks because he has nothing else going on. She's standing in front of a huge ass Christmas tree in a blue dress, talking to a little girl with blonde curls. The photo was taken, apparently, by someone named Shelby Morris.

The girl is tagged as _Beth_.

Rachel's just walking out of Starbucks when her phone rings. She takes a second to wrap her scarf around her neck before answering. "Hi, Noah!"

"You've been talking to Shelby," he states flatly.

Rachel's steps falter, and she's glad that there isn't anyone walking behind her. "I-yes."

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" He's pissed the fuck off, though he doesn't know what about, exactly. Jesus, this girl will call to tell him about so-and-so's performance in some fucking singing class, but she doesn't tell him that she's been talking her her estranged birth mother, the woman who adopted his daughter? Is this why she sounded so weird on the phone last night? "There are pictures of you with her on Facebook, Rachel."

She doesn't know what he's talking about, but that doesn't seem important. "Because it didn't have anything to do with you," she answers honestly, pressing her lips together when he scoffs. "She found me performing at school. We've seen one another a couple of times since then, and she invited me to a Christmas party last night."

"And it didn't have anything to do with me." He fixates on that, even as he gets the confirmation, to his mind, that her 'weird dream' last night was a lie and she was really freaked out about being at this fucking party.

His voice is so hateful that it physically hurts her. "It was all about Shelby and about me, Noah. It wasn't about her at all." To say Beth's name feels like crossing a line, so she doesn't. She knows that he knows who she means.

"Until you were posing for pictures with her."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she insists, and however good an actress she is, Puck can tell that it's the truth. "I met her last night at that party, and if someone took a picture, I didn't know it."

"That isn't the fucking point," he snaps. "So this is why you called me last night, to freak the fuck out about all of this, but lie about it instead of actually telling me what the fuck was going on."

"Please stop swearing at me," she pleads. She's still carrying her gingerbread soy latte, but she isn't interested in drinking it at all any more, not when Noah is so angry with her. He's never been this angry with her. "I didn't want to drag all of that out for you again, not when it didn't have to happen."

He hears that he isn't as important a part of her life as she is in his when she says that, because if the situation was reversed, Rachel is the first person he would have told. If Shelby found him, offering him a relationship with his daughter, he would have told her everything because she deserves to know and she's tough enough to handle it, not to mention the fact that he doesn't tell anyone else as much as he tells her. Fuck, he tells her fucking everything. So either she doesn't care about him the same way that he cares about her, or she just thinks he isn't strong enough to deal. Either way, fuck her.

"You should've told me, and you sure as fuck shouldn't have lied about it."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I can't talk to you," Puck realizes. If she doesn't care enough about him to tell him this... "I don't want to talk to you about this or anything else."

"Noah-"

He hangs up before she can say anything else, jerking the battery out of the back of his phone so he doesn't have to listen to it ring when she tries to call him back. He kind of hates her right now, and if he has to talk to her, he's going to say something really fucking mean, the kind of thing he hasn't said to her in _years_. He thought he knew all the worst of Rachel. She can be selfish and self-involved, and she worries too much about what other people think, but he never knew that she was a fucking liar. In fact, she's always been the honest-to-a-fault type, so finding out that it's this easy for her to lie to him about _this_ - it's like a kick in the nads.

He feels like he doesn't know her at all.

And maybe she didn't think that he needed to know that she was seeing Shelby, but it isn't just about Shelby when it's about Shelby, and Rachel fucking knows that. She says that she was trying not to hurt him or whatever, but she had to know that he was going to find all of this out eventually. Jesus, at some point, wasn't she going to tell him that she was talking to her mom again?

It's like a mindfuck and a half.

* * *

><p>After three days of not being able to get a hold of Noah at all, Rachel starts to panic. At first, his phone was off, she knows, but then he started ignoring her calls, sending her to voice mail after two or three rings, and she didn't bother leaving messages that she knows he won't listen to.<p>

Wednesday night, she decides to call Marlene. She's sure it's against some code, calling his mother, but she's worried about him.

"Oh, Rachel," Marlene sighs after Rachel's explained what happened. "You don't give him enough credit."

"_What?_"

"Giving up that baby hurt him more than anything he's ever done to himself or had done to him, but he knows that it was the right thing. If he couldn't handle the idea that your mother has that little girl, he just wouldn't have anything to do with you," Marlene says flatly. It stings. "But you not telling him that you were seeing her is a lie to him, and he hate liars. His father was a liar."

"How do I fix it?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, but you're going to have to give him time."

It isn't so much that Marlene tells her anything that she didn't already know on some level, but more that Rachel hadn't thought about it this way before. And in a lot of ways, the worst part is that she knows that she's finished with Shelby. She doesn't need the woman. She may have completely jeopardized her relationship with Noah for this woman who's done nothing for Rachel beyond giving her not-terrible genes.

Hearing that there isn't anything she can _do_ makes it all that much harder. Rachel is an action girl, not a sit-and-wait girl.

"I love him," she admits quietly to Marlene. It just sort of slips out, but it's absolutely the truth. He's her best friend, and she's been falling in love with him for years. Maybe she shouldn't be saying it to his mother before she's even considered saying it to him, but now it's out there.

"I know you do," Marlene murmurs. Rachel knows that it changes nothing.

* * *

><p>Rachel waits two weeks to call him again, hoping that the time and the space will make him more inclined to listen to her this time around.<p>

"Can you please just hear me out?" she asks when he answers. She's had two weeks to do nothing but think about what she wanted to say to him, and she really wants to be sure that he hears it all.

"Rachel-"

"Please?"

Puck sighs. He's kind of surprised that he hasn't heard from her before now. The girl's so stubborn that he figured her for the type who wouldn't let you forget that you needed to forgive her. But he also knows that she called his mom, so maybe she actually took the advice he knows his mom gave her, whether Rachel asked for it or not. "Yeah," he finally sighs. "Okay." He hears her take a deep breath.

"I'm used to handling things on my own, Noah, especially where Shelby is concerned. Back in high school, I didn't even mention her name to my fathers until after she told me that she wanted a family that didn't include me." It's one of the many things in her life that she would go back and change if she could, because as much as she worried about hurting her dads' feelings back then, it would have been infinitely easier to deal with all of it if they'd been there.

Thinking about that right now is something like irony. She wishes she'd learned her lesson the first time around.

"I wanted to tell you about all of it," she admits. "The second time I met with her, when she invited me to that party. And then I called you, and I couldn't, because I didn't want you to feel anything like the way that I felt then." She sighs softly, retroactively annoyed with herself for being so stupid. "I thought that I needed to grow up and deal with it myself."

Fucking flawed logic there, but Puck can see what she means.

"I'm sorry I lied," she finishes, whispering. "I just...I love you, and I didn't mean to hurt you." Noah is quiet for a long time, so long that she finally says, "Please say something."

He's kind of reeling from the fact that she just said she loves him. It's just about the worst time ever to hear that, even from her. "Rachel...fuck, I get it," he says, "but that doesn't make it okay. It doesn't just disappear."

"I know."

"I don't think you do," he argues. If she understood, she would never have chosen right now to tell him she loves him. That's the same shit he remembers his dad saying to his mom, things Puck could hear through the walls when they fought back before the guy left. "I can't just like-" He cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, because he hates this shit, and he doesn't know how to do it. "We need some distance."

"We live six hundred miles apart." She says it without thinking.

"Rachel."

"I guess I don't know what that means," she concedes.

Puck scrubs his hand over his head, moves the phone away from his mouth, and blows out a breath. If she could keep something this huge from him - lie to him about it - what does that say about them? And she isn't totally wrong, because it does make him think about Beth, but it also makes him think about what lying did to his mom when his dad was doing it. Fuck, it feels an awful lot like she just doesn't trust him, but in the next breath, she's saying she _loves_ him. (He's stuck on that.) "I need to like, not talk to you for a while."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Rachel's chest feels heavy, and she can already tell that she's going to cry. "This feels remarkably similar to a breakup, considering that we aren't in a relationship."

Puck doesn't say anything. All things considered, they basically are, and they'd definitely be together if they weren't living in different states, but now isn't the time to point that out.

"Will you let me know when you're ready to forgive me?" she whispers.

She's kind of breaking his heart with that. It isn't about forgiving her - because he does get why she did what she did - but he doesn't really know how to explain what it _is_ about. "Yeah."

"Okay then." She take a deep breath and steels herself. "Goodbye, Noah."

She hangs up the phone before he can say anything, not because she's angry, but because she doesn't want him to hear her fall apart.


	15. Chapter 15

Puck's schedule for the semester is kind of fucking ridiculous. Besides classes, he's spending about ten hours a week at a local architecture firm for an internship, and he's looking at grad schools. Not going to grad school isn't an option if he ever wants to actually _be_ an architect, which also means that he needs to bust his ass to keep his GPA up and to make sure that some of his professors will write letters of recommendation and stuff. Ideally, he'll get a job at a firm where they're willing to pay for part of his grad school, and he'll spend a couple of years doing bullshit work while he finishes his degree.

He finds a rhythm pretty quickly though, because even though the shit is harder and way more important, he was actually busier in high school when he was juggling sports with school and glee, especially once he started like, actually going to class and turning in homework and shit. Besides, he likes being busy.

It makes it harder to find time to think about Rachel.

It's been nearly two months since they've really _talked_, though it isn't complete radio silence between them. They talk every couple of weeks, but it's entirely superficial, mostly just catching up on what they're doing. These conversations kind of remind him of when they first started talking through glee, sort of stilted and unsure. (At least, the conversations they had that weren't her babbling about music and Broadway or him trying to seduce her out of her skirt.)

He's tried putting himself in her shoes, but every time he does, all he can think about is his dad. If that fucker ever came around and told Puck that he was sorry and he wanted a chance to get to know his son, Puck would tell him to fuck himself. It isn't the same thing as Rachel and Shelby at all, but he can't be objective about any of it. He just doesn't get what Rachel thinks she needs from Shelby, especially after the manipulative shit the woman pulled with Jesse St. James.

(Looking back now, he can absolve Jesse of a lot of that. The guy was a kid. Shelby, however, knew exactly what she was doing, and should have known better than to do something like that to a teenaged girl.)

He gave Santana a Cliff's Notes version of what happened when she asked him why she wasn't overhearing all of his 'sappy ass conversations with Babs,' and she just stared at him for a minute after he finished talking.

"She told you she loves you," she'd said, setting her hands on her hips. It wasn't a question, so Puck didn't say anything, though he wasn't sure how she knew. Santana shook her head. "You can only use all of this as an excuse to stay away from her for so long, Puck, then you're going to have to deal with the fact that she's just as in love with you as you are with her."

She'd left him sitting there on the couch, gaping after her when she went out the front door saying something about staying with Finn.

He didn't talk to her for three days, because fuck her and her psychoanalysis bullshit. This is about the fact that Rachel lied, not because she said she loves him and he's running scared.

* * *

><p>One afternoon near the end of February, Rachel gets a call from an unknown number. Most people don't answer calls from numbers they don't recognize, but she always does. It could be a casting director who saw her in a performance and wants to cast her in an exciting new musical, or a music producer who wants to sign her to a contract and turn her into a Grammy-winning recording artist.<p>

You never know.

"Rachel, it's Shelby." Rachel feels herself deflate. However unrealistic her fantasies are, it's always a letdown when she's reminded that they're just that. "I've been worried about you."

Rachel hasn't spoken to Shelby since the party. She's ignored her calls and deleted her emails without reading them. If Rachel learned anything about herself through this experience with Shelby - especially combined with her last experience with her - it's that she doesn't need the woman. She doesn't exactly regret it though, because at least now she has the answer to her what if.

"Well, that's sweet, I suppose, but misguided," Rachel says, her tone polite.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't have to worry about me, Shelby. You don't need to feel any more obligated to worry about my well-being than you did for the first two decades of my life."

Shelby makes a strangled noise. "Rachel-"

"I'm sorry," she interrupts. "That was uncalled for. But the fact of the matter is, I don't need you in my life. I used to think that there were things I could only get from you, but now I know better, and both times that you've come back into my life, it's messed everything up," Rachel explains. It feels inelegant, but it's the truth, and she isn't going to hold back now.

"Rachel, I don't-"

"Last time, you told me that you didn't want me, so I know how much it hurts," she whispers. "I'm sorry, but please don't contact me again."

She doesn't ever actually say the words - of course, neither did Shelby, all those years ago - but she knows that the implication is clear.

Rachel is nervous when she decides to call Noah and tell him what happened. She's a little wary of bringing Shelby up at all, lest it drag out some unfinished business, but at the same time, she doesn't want him to think that she's hiding things again. She's not entirely sure of how to broach the subject.

In the end, she just blurts it out. "Shelby called me this afternoon."

Puck can feel himself tense up. "Oh, yeah?"

"I've been ignoring her calls, but she was at a number I didn't recognize. I told her I didn't want her to be a part of my life."

Puck takes a deep breath. "Are you okay?"

It's more sincere than anything she's heard him say in months, and she loves the way it sounds. "I really am."

It's the absolute truth, and it feels amazing.

"They announced the auditions for the musical today," she says, changing the subject. She doesn't want to talk about that woman any more.

"So is it _West Side Story_?" He knows that's what she wants to do. She heard a rumor forever ago, and she built this elaborate fantasy scenario that involved being discovered by a director or whoever on her first night as Maria. In her head, this guy is looking for the perfect girl to lead his Broadway revival of the show, and he's so impressed by Rachel that she's got her name on a marquee by September.

"_Thoroughly Modern Millie_, actually, but I can work with that." It could have been much worse, really, even if it isn't exactly what she was hoping for. She thinks she'll make a perfect Millie, and she's always loved the flapper look.

"You've never told me about that one," he tells her. He knows she'll understand that this is an invitation for her to tell him all about it. It's been a while since she's talked his ear off about a show, and he actually finds himself smiling as she launches into a description of a musical that, when you get right down to it, is about a girl who falls in love.

He's pretty sure she'll be perfect.

* * *

><p>She'd be lying if she said she wasn't worried that she might not be cast as the lead in this show, no matter how well-prepared she is. There's no accounting for taste, as they say, and stranger things have happened, to throw another cliché into the mix.<p>

Of course, Rachel Berry is an actress - a better one now than she was two years ago - and it's simply part of her job to push aside the nerves that she feels and show them what she's got.

The feeling that goes through her when she sees her name at the top of the cast list is the best thing that's happened to her all year.

* * *

><p>When Puck starts thinking about grad school and where he wants to be, geographically speaking, New York is one of the first places that comes up. He knows that he wants to do two things with his career: design enormous houses for people with more money than brains and design affordable homes for people who have nothing. The easiest way to be able to do the second is to be in a place where he can be really good at the first. Big cities are a logical choice. He's been to New York and has professional ties there already, and there's an endless stream of rich fuckers.<p>

And yeah, Rachel's there. Whatever.

He's looking at other cities though. Phoenix, Denver, Austin, D.C., Chicago, of course. Columbus is his fallback, only because he's already here and the firm where he's doing his internship this semester already said they would hire him if he was interested.

The firms in Denver, Phoenix, and D.C. all give him a polite '_fuck you_,' which, when he considers the fact that he gets interviews with places in Chicago and Austin plus the firm he interned at in New York, is all right. He doesn't have the patience for political bullshit, so D.C. would piss him off, and he likes having seasons, so Phoenix would probably get old really fast. And he hates the fucking Broncos.

He drives to Chicago on a Tuesday to interview at a place that he hates the second he walks in. The building is sleek and modern and techy, which isn't Puck's aesthetic at all. He likes spaces that are cozy and meant to be lived in, and he just doesn't get that from modern. He has learned not to burn bridges though, so he gives them his best stuff; better to get his start somewhere radically different from what he wants to do than not to go anywhere at all.

"Does the way their offices look really matter?" Rachel asks when he calls her on his drive home. It's taken years, but she's finally stopped giving him shit for talking and driving at the same time.

"It's an architecture firm," he says flatly. Yeah, it matters.

She makes a face even though he can't see her. "I'm just trying to help."

"Mmhmm." He grins when she huffs. "How was rehearsal?"

"Long. We're working on a tap sequence that's killing me. So you should really be nice to me right now," she adds pointedly.

"I'm always nice to you, baby," he teases.

Rachel closes her eyes and takes a little breath. She never thought she'd be so relieved to hear a silly pet name, but after two months of Noah treating her like he barely knew her, hearing it now is everything. It's absurd, but she thinks she wouldn't mind if he never used her given name again as long as he didn't stop calling her baby like that. He hasn't actually said that he's ready to forgive her, but even if he isn't quite there, she knows he's getting closer.

His interview in Austin is during spring break, so Puck convinces Finn to come with him for the week. Neither of them has ever been able to have a 'real' spring break; Finn was always doing the football thing and Puck just never got around to it, so this is their last chance. They might as well take advantage of it. And there's something right about getting to do this with the guy who's been his best friend for fucking ever, especially after everything they've been through over the years.

Santana comes into Puck's room the night before they leave. "Don't let him do anything stupid."

"Don't be a bitch, San," he tells her mildly, barely glancing up from his laptop.

"I'm serious, Puck," she insists. "Look, we're actually dating now, and if you tell me that you aren't going to push him into bed with a skanky blonde, I won't have to worry about it at all."

He finally looks at her and sees the expression on her face. She's totally not kidding. "All right. Go fuck him or something," he suggests. He knows Finn's just passed out in her bed, which is dumb. He should be awake, so he can fuck his girl tonight, then sleep on the plane. Win-win.

Santana flips him off before she leaves the room.

It takes exactly three days in Austin for Puck to decide that he could definitely live here. It's a cool social scene, and the city's got that whole urban sprawl thing going on, which is basically bank for what he wants to do.

Being a college student on spring break in Austin doesn't suck either. It's kind of a bro-cation. Santana has Finn's balls in her pocket back in Columbus, so Puck agreed not to desert the dude every night to go get laid. It's all right though, because he and Finn haven't been able to hang out like this much in the last couple of years. (And, unless something crazy happens, they probably won't be living in the same city for much longer.)

"So what's up with you and Santana?" he asks at lunch one day. They're at this kick-ass Mexican place they found the night they got here; this is their third meal at this restaurant in as many days.

Finn shrugs. "I kind of love her," he says around a mouthful of chips and salsa.

Puck freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth. "Are you serious with that shit?"

"Yeah," he says, shrugging again. "She's awesome."

"She's a bitch," Puck counters seriously. He _knows_, okay? He's dated her and fucked her and lived with her for three years. If there's one thing in the world he knows for sure, it's that Santana Lopez is a bitch.

"Yeah, well." Finn eats another chip and takes his time chewing. "I like it."

Puck spends the rest of lunch razzing Finn about Santana dressing up as a dom and making Finn her bitch since the guy's obviously a masochist. To his credit, Finn takes it all in stride, ordering them both enough rounds of tequila shots that they're both half-wasted by the time they head out.

(And even though he's giving him shit, Puck gets it. They're too alike to ever work in a relationship, but Puck loves her bitchy ass, and Finn has always liked bossy women. As long as they're both happy, Puck's happy for them.)

His interview is awesome. Legit, they tell him that he has a job waiting there if he decides that he wants to move to Austin. He and Finn spend their night out toasting Puck's potential job - not that they need an excuse - and they get a little carried away. They're back at their hotel by midnight, and Finn's passed the hell out on his bed. (Puck rolls him onto his stomach and sets the trash can next to him just in case. Losing his best friend because the guy chokes on his own puke in a hotel room is not the way Puck wants to remember Austin, Texas.) He hits the vending machine with dollar bills that he steals out of Finn's wallet, then decides that calling Rachel is the best idea ever when he's halfway through a bag of Funyuns.

"Is something wrong?" That's how she answers the phone, her voice all full of sleep.

"Nope. 'S'up, baby?"

"You're drunk," she sighs, and he hears some rustling in the background. He figures she's in bed and wonders what she's wearing.

"Yeah I am," Puck agrees easily, crunching on another deep fried onion ring. Or whatever it is that Funyuns are made from. "I got offered a job today."

"That's wonderful, Noah, but did you have to wake me up to tell me that? I have a rehearsal in six hours," she says with a glance at her alarm clock. She knows that he's forgotten that he's in a different time zone, but also that it wouldn't matter either way, so she just pulls the covers up over her shoulders and snuggles further into her pillow.

"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all, which just makes her roll her eyes. "I still have to interview at Hell to the No, though."

"What?" She's so tired that she can't be bothered to try to make sense of what he's saying.

"In New York City," he says, enunciating each word.

"Right."

Bringing up Helmsley and Monroe makes him think about this summer and spending time with her and how _easy_ it is to be with her.

"Hey, Rach?"

"Mmm?"

"I forgive you."

Her eyes had been closed, and she was struggling not to drift off, wanting to be sure that Noah wasn't so drunk that he was going to be sick before she hung up and went back to sleep, but they pop open when he says those words, and she blinks into the darkness of her bedroom when he keeps talking.

"For the shit with Shelby. I get it, why you did what you did, and you asked me to tell you when I was ready to forgive you." He pauses, looking out over the hotel pool. "I forgive you." He's been thinking about it for a while, and he's tired of things being weird between them. He wants it to be the way it was, and he thinks this is the quickest way to get there.

Rachel lets out a breath that she didn't realize she was holding. "Okay," she whispers. She doesn't know what else to say right now. Maybe if she wasn't half-asleep, she could form a more coherent response.

"So we're good," he states, shoving a Funyun in his mouth. It feels good. Not eating the Funyun. That doesn't feel like anything. Being good with Rachel feels good. Shit, he's right on the edge of _too drunk_, but he knows he's just sober enough that he'll remember all of this tomorrow, which is exactly what he tells her when she asks.

"Good." It's amazing, the relief she feels right now. She wants to talk to him, especially now, but she's exhausted, and she can feel sleep overtaking her. The last thing she hears before she drifts off with the phone in her hand is Noah crunching on something.

She dreams of Noah walking around her apartment in a black beaded dress like the one she was being fitted for that morning, eating potato chips, dropping crumbs everywhere while he directs Finn and Mike in the construction of a new house that juts out of the side of her apartment building, the front porch just beyond her closet.

She's still tired when she gets to rehearsal the next morning, but her mood is absolutely brilliant. It's a cliché to say that she feels that a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, but she truly does feel lighter, and it shows in her performance. The fact that her director tells her that she's just turned in her best performance yet of "Not for the Life of Me" is absolute proof.

It feels amazing.

* * *

><p>When Puck gets off the plane in New York this time around, no one's waiting for him. Rachel has class and then rehearsal, so she told him to just go ahead to her place and she'd see him later. Neither of them realized it until she brought it up, but he still has keys to her apartment on his key ring.<p>

He's not totally sure how this weekend is going to go, staying with her like this. Things are different between them since the last time he was here, and they haven't quite gotten back to where they were before. He doesn't even know whether he's going to be sleeping with her or on the sofabed. They haven't talked about it.

Honestly, they haven't talked about a lot lately, but just because Rachel is stupidly busy. She has classes and rehearsals, and apparently they have some senior recital thing in May - after the musical closes - that she's already getting ready for. He's a little bit worried about her pushing herself too hard, especially since she's fallen asleep on the phone with him more than once in the last few weeks, but it's not like he can really say anything about it. Rachel's an adult, and she knows how to take care of herself.

He's sitting on the couch watching Colbert when she comes in, setting her keys next to his on the table just inside the door and dropping her bag, stepping out of her shoes on her way to the couch. She sits herself across his lap without a word, setting one hand on his chest and pressing her face against his neck. "Hi," she murmurs, her breath warm on his skin.

She feels the, "Hey," rumble in his chest and presses herself closer. He's warm and solid and _here_, and it feels amazing to come home to him like this. She's almost able to forget how strained things have been between them in the last few months.

"This has been the longest day ever," she says, pulling back a bit to look at him. "How was your flight?"

"Fine. I got Chinese and ordered you some of those noodles," he tells her.

"Thanks, but I think I'm just going to go to bed." She says it, but instead of moving off his lap, she lays her head on his shoulder. "What time is your interview?"

"Ten." His hand slides up her back and tangles in the ends of her hair. "Do you have class?"

"No, but I have rehearsal at noon." He doesn't say anything, and after a moment she feels herself starting to drift off. She opens her eyes and blinks a few times. Honestly, it's ridiculous how tired she's been, but between classes and rehearsals, it's hard not to be. She's hoping that Noah isn't going to want to go do anything on Sunday, because it's her only day without a rehearsal in the next two weeks, being a holiday, and she'd really like to spend as much of it as possible relaxing.

She forces herself to get up out of his lap when her eyes start closing again. "I'm going to wash my face."

When she comes back a little later, she's wearing a tank top and a tiny pair of shorts. "You don't have to stay on the pull-out," she tells him, leaning against the doorway. "I don't mind sharing."

It's exactly what he was waiting for, if he's being honest. He and Rachel have spent as much time feeling weird around one another for various reasons as they have feeling normal, so they should probably be used to it. Sleeping in the same bed isn't a big deal for them, whatever else is going on. At least, it never was before. And yeah, he forgave her, but it feels a little like they're starting over again.

There's a star-shaped post-it note stuck to her bathroom mirror that reads, _All the hard work is worth it when you're on top_. It's so Rachel that he can't help smiling when he's in there.

She's already in bed when he finishes brushing his teeth, lying there with just the lamp on his bedside table burning. "I like your note," he says, unbuckling his belt after he's pulled his tee shirt over his head.

"It's an affirmation," she corrects sleepily, turning towards him when he crawls into bed beside her. "Will you wake me up before you leave tomorrow?"

"Sure," he lies, reaching over to turn off the lamp. As tired as she is right now, if she's still asleep when he leaves tomorrow, he's going to let her sleep. "C'mere." He tugs her closer, until she's curled into his side, her hand resting on his chest over his heart.

* * *

><p>He never thought that <em>getting<em> a job would be the easy part. Aren't people supposed to struggle and grasp and go without for however long before they finally catch a break? It's not working that way for him. He never, ever thought that things would come easy for him, not when it seems like everything else in his life has been so hard.

Hell to the No offers him the job before he even finishes the interview, so now he has to decide where he wants to live for the next few years. (And if he does choose New York, he's going to have to start calling the firm by its real name all the time, or he's going to slip in front of someone important who won't get the joke at all.) He's already ruled out Chicago and Columbus, which means he's choosing between Austin and New York, two places that couldn't be more different if they tried.

He figures it's best to give himself a few days to think about it, so once he's told his mom (who squeals so loudly into the phone that his ear rings), he pushes it all out of his mind.

He finds Rachel's rehearsal schedule on the fridge when he goes back to her place to change. He's standing in the kitchen eating cold Chinese straight out of the carton, reading this piece of paper with dates and times and places on it - Rachel's highlighted all of the things that are pertinent to her in pink highlighter - and he figures that he might as well go see what this show's all about. He isn't doing anything else.

Rachel's up on stage when Puck slips into the theater and takes a seat all the way in the back. She's talking to someone sitting out in the audience, nodding her head while she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. She starts singing about a guy named Jimmy, and Puck realizes that it's been years since he's seen her up on stage, singing like this. He's not going to be able to be in the city when the show opens, so he's taking what he can get with this.

There's no way that she isn't going to blow away everyone who sees this show. Puck's kind of blown away, and this is just a rehearsal. Plus, it isn't like he hasn't seen what she can do; he's seen Rachel bring crowds to their feet with her voice before. He knows what it feels like to hear her for the first time, and he doesn't see how she can be anything but a star after all of this.

He leaves after about an hour. He knows that she'll just be annoyed (or disappointed, or whatever) that he saw part of the performance before it was 'perfect,' so he doesn't say anything when she gets home later, just asks her if she'd rather order pizza or Indian for dinner.

* * *

><p>Puck goes out to Brooklyn to spend the day with Chang when Rachel goes to rehearsal on Saturday. The guy's leaving for Europe in a few weeks, going back on tour with Derulo like a boss, and it's been a long time since they've gotten a chance to hang out. Puck misses the guy.<p>

They got to a restaurant that's been voted best chicken in the city for the last however many years for lunch, and Puck considers telling Mike that he loves him for it. He loves the girl to death, and he really doesn't care what Rachel eats, but there are just some restaurants that they can't go to together. There's no way this place has anything vegan on their menu.

(It's funny, but he catches himself looking for vegan options on the menu whenever he goes to a restaurant, no matter where he is. She's all up under his skin.)

He's practically up to his elbows in chicken grease (yeah, he eats fried chicken with his hands; how else are you supposed to do it?) when Mike wipes his hands on a napkin and look across the table at him seriously. "You know she's in love with you, dude." Puck struggles not to choke on his chicken. "She thought she was doing the right thing by not telling you about Shelby."

Puck reaches for his napkin, shaking his head. "Mike..."

"Man, if you aren't going to be with her when you get here, you gotta cut her loose," Mike says bluntly. "I fucking love that girl, and she's been through enough.

"Look, she told me that you two probably would have been together if it wasn't for the distance thing. And she doesn't _tell_ me stuff, but I know her, okay? If you move here, she's going to think that means there's hope for you two being together."

Puck raises an eyebrow. "So are you saying that I shouldn't move here if I don't want to be with her?" When he told Chang about the two job offers this morning, this isn't exactly what he thought would happen. He was figuring he'd get a slap on the back and a 'congrats,' not a heart to heart about the girl they've both had in bed. (Jesus.)

Mike shakes his head. "No, you just need to make sure that she knows what's up." He watches Puck for a second, then nods his head and goes back to his drumstick like nothing happened at all, changing the subject completely and talking about the upcoming subway series games.

And look, it's not that Puck hasn't realized that being in the city would mean getting see what he and Rachel could be, but it's not like he can base his career decision around her. He's twenty-two; this is the time in his life when he's supposed to be making selfish decisions and doing what's right for him without considering the consequences for anyone else.

He spends his entire trip back into Manhattan thinking about what Mike said and where he wants to be. Puck knows better than to ask any of his friends for advice, and he already knows what most of them will say anyhow. Santana loves New York, and she thinks it's just a matter of time before he and Rachel are together. Finn will tell him to go to Austin because it has a smaller feel, and for all of his talk in high school about going wherever Rachel was going, the guy isn't made for a city as big as New York. Puck's mom would totally ignore the options and tell him to stay in Columbus or go to Chicago just because she wants him to be close. Honestly, what Mike said is probably the closest thing to helpful advice that he's going to get.

Rachel's sitting on the couch with her computer when he lets himself into the apartment, her bare legs stretched out across the cushions. She has music playing, something soft and piano-driven that's completely different than the music in her show, like she's taking a break from the jazzy thing. He lifts her legs to sit with her on the couch, sliding his hand along her shins when they're laying across his lap.

He feels her flex her calves when she looks at him. "How's Mike?"

Puck scoffs. "Kid's going to Europe. He's awesome," he answers, grinning when she laughs.

"Did he take you to the chicken place for lunch?" She laughs when Puck looks at her with raised eyebrows. "He's obsessed with that restaurant. I knew he'd love having someone new to take."

"That chicken is awesome," he admits, grinning when she shakes her head.

She goes back to what she was doing, the sound of her rapid typing reminding him that despite how relaxed she looks right this second, the girl almost never slows the hell down. He likes it though; it makes those moments when she does relax and take a break that much better, special even, because it's almost a novelty. He thinks about the day they spent in Battery Park last summer, quiet and relaxed, and the night they spent in her bed after that. It's special that he's gotten to see her that way. God, he's seen her differently than almost anyone has in the last few years, seen her fall apart and put herself back together. He's seen her slow down and breathe, and now he's seeing that crazy drive to be on top coming out again.

And he's pretty sure he's still just scratched the surface with her.

"I have to choose between moving here or moving to Austin," he says suddenly.

Rachel looks past her computer screen at him and blinks. She didn't even know that he'd been offered the job here in the city. "That's a big decision," she says after a moment, calmly, trying to be diplomatic. She _loves_ the idea of having him here in the city with her, of maybe having a chance to be _with_ him, but that isn't for her to say. This is his decision, and he doesn't need her muddling things up.

Puck traces his fingertips over the fine bones of her ankles and the tops of her feet. "What do you think I should do?"

"Noah." She shakes her head slowly, pushing the lid of her laptop closed. "You have to do what's right for you." However much she wants him here, it isn't her place to say that, to make the decision more complicated for him.

He takes the computer from her lap and leans forward, setting it on the coffee table. "What do you think?" he repeats. He wants her opinion. He doesn't know what, exactly he wants her to say, but Rachel's always been good at saying the right thing at the right time. He's hoping she can do that now.

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, then sighs softly. "You have a head start on building a reputation here, and you know the city a little. In Austin, you'd be starting from scratch. It can be nice not to have any expectations on your shoulders when you're starting out somewhere," she offers, trying to be as practical and unbiased as possible.

He watches her carefully for a moment. Sometimes, she thinks so much, so hard, that he can practically hear it. Now is one of those times. "What do you want me to do?"

She shakes her head quickly. "What I want doesn't matter. You have to decide for you."

"Rachel."

"Noah, no." He _knows_ what she wants, and she doesn't understand why he's trying to get her to say it. She doesn't want him to be able to look back and say that he did it for her and resent her for it.

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently. "Do you want me to be in New York?"

"Oh, Noah," she sighs, looking away from him and swallowing hard. "_Of course_ I want you here, but you can't come to New York for me."

And as soon as she says it, he realizes that it's exactly what he needed to hear her say, however stupid that is. He knows that Rachel doesn't _need_ anyone - she can take care of herself better than almost anyone he knows. But the thing is, he needs to know that she wants him around.

That's kind of what the Shelby thing was about for him; not the idea that she needs him there to help her deal with shit, but that she _wants_ to tell him things, that she wants him to be there for her when things aren't easy, when they get hard and make her crazy.

Hearing her say that she wants him here isn't the be all, end all for his decision, but he's not going to lie and pretend that it doesn't make a difference.

Noah wraps his free hand around her thigh and pulls, tugging her until she's straddling his thighs. Her heart starts to beat a little faster when he slips his hand into her hair, his thumb brushing along her hairline slowly. "I fucking miss you," he murmurs, watching her eyes.

She kisses him because she _has_ to.

She sighs against his mouth after a moment because it seems like it's been so long since she's been here with him like this, had him like this. It feels amazing, but not just the the way the hair at the nape of his neck is soft between her fingers or how solid he is in front of her; emotionally, it feels like they're back to where they were before Rachel let herself let Shelby mess things up for her again.

Puck wants her. He's always wanted her in one way or another, even when he had someone else, and that probably isn't going to change any time soon. The thing is, he has her now, and he doesn't want to rush it. He takes his time kissing her, letting his fingers slip through her hair, pushing his free hand beneath the back of her shirt to rest against her skin, smooth and hot at the small of her back.

He can tell when she starts to get impatient, tightening her fingers in his hair and grinding her hips down against his. She whimpers when he nips at her bottom lip with his teeth. "Noah."

Noah just hums against her mouth, and while she can usually appreciate a slow and steady sort of approach, right now, she doesn't understand where he's getting this self-restraint.

He's only kissed her, and Rachel feels like she's burning up from the inside out.

When she pushes herself out of his lap, he blinks up at her, his hair a mess from her hands running through it. She watches him for a moment, then unzips her hoodie, peeling it off and dropping it on the couch beside him before turning to walk into her bedroom.

Puck's up off the couch before she's out of the room, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning down to kiss along her shoulder next to the strap of her tank top. Her head rolls to the side a little as he moves his lips up the side of her neck, even as she manages to keep her feet moving forward.

"I missed this," she admits quietly when they're in her room, standing beside her bed.

"Yeah." He doesn't mean to sound disinterested in what she's saying, because he missed it, too, but he's pushing her tank top up over her head, working to get her naked, and she's trying to have a conversation.

She lets him push her back onto the bed, laughing breathlessly when he hooks his fingers in the sides of the cotton shorts she's wearing and tugs them down her legs before pulling off his shirt. His body look amazing

There's a moment, when she's lying on her bed in her bra and panties and he's looking down at her, where she feels a surge of anxiety, a prickle of fear that comes from having been in almost this exact situation with him before when he walked away. She should be past it, yes, but the way things have been between them for the last few months doesn't really inspire confidence.

"Fucking gorgeous," he mutters, unbuckling his belt and pushing his jeans off his hips with his boxers, and when he gets onto her bed and hovers over her, her anxiety melts away.

Puck doesn't care how impatient she is - and she is - he takes his time, kissing along her collarbone and across her chest before he slips a hand beneath her to unhook her bra. She's all whimpers and sighs as he touches her, and the way she breathes his name when he tugs her panties down her legs might be the sexiest thing he's ever heard. Or, it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard until he hears the moan she lets out when he sinks into her, her leg coming up to wrap around his hip.

"Oh, god," she whimpers, bringing her hand to back of his neck. "God, you feel good."

He kisses her instead of answering, curling his tongue around hers while he thrusts slowly, pushing as deep as he can go and grinding against her before pulling back out again. It makes her crazy, and when she has to tear her mouth from his to moan, he smirks down at her. "Good, baby?"

She moans again when he snaps his hips, digging her heel into the small of his back in an effort to keep him closer. "Yes."

He slips his hand between them when she brings her other leg up around his hip, a sure sign that she's close, and she comes with a low moan after just a few sure strokes of his thumb against her nerves.

Rachel falls asleep just after, her leg draped over his and her breath warm against his chest where she's curled against him. It isn't normal for her, but it makes sense given how tired Puck knows she's been. He doesn't hate it at all, having her close like this.

It gets him thinking about what happens in a couple of months when he graduates. He's moving across the country, in one direction or the other, and now he just has to decide where he wants to go.

Rachel made some good points; Puck has a reputation here at Helmsley and Monroe, which could be a blessing or a curse (and he knows all about being cursed by his reputation), but there's something to be said for going somewhere that no one knows a thing about him. He can totally get behind the Texas thing, and Austin's a cool city, the kind of place he's pretty sure he could make his own. Having spent time here though, Puck can see why people think of New York as the center of the world. There isn't much that a guy could want that he couldn't find here.

Including Rachel.

He knows it's a bad idea to come to New York because of Rachel, to base his decision on the fact that she's here. He could wind up resenting her, or worse. But then...well, is it wrong to factor her in? Not coming to New York because she's here, but considering the fact that she is as part of the overall appeal of the city.

Fuck, he's spending more energy trying to say that Rachel isn't part of the reason he wants to be in New York than he is actually thinking about where he wants to work and go to school.

Rachel sighs in her sleep, pressing herself a little closer to him, and he's gotta stop thinking about this right now. His brain's all muddled by sex and the fact that she's naked and all up on him, and he's going to end up letting all that convince him that he should be in New York.

(He's pretty sure that he's going to choose New York anyhow, but he's enough of an adult to know that deciding like this is a terrible idea.)


	16. Chapter 16

Rachel insists on getting out of bed on Sunday morning because, despite what she thought earlier this week, she has far too much energy to lie around and do nothing, even if it isn't doing nothing with Noah in her bed. It's nervous energy, anxiety; it's making her a little crazy to think about the decision that Noah's making, knowing that there's quite a good chance that he'll be in the city with her by June, but there's just as good a chance that he'll be even further away in Austin than he already is back home.

They go to a Jewish deli a few blocks from her apartment that she found and likes because they not only have good coffee, but because the people behind the counter have never looked at her like she's crazy when she asks for soy milk for that coffee, a regular occurrence at other establishments throughout the city. (Honestly, soy milk is not a strange request.) Noah manages to get them a table near the door when another couple leaves, and he grins when Rachel crosses her legs and hooks one foot behind his calf beneath the table. She just wants to be touching him.

Puck knows that Rachel won't kiss him until he's brushed his teeth, but he really likes everything bagels with scallion cream cheese, and his first bite of this one proves that it's worth it. It's the best bagel he's ever eaten, and he put some effort into finding kick ass bagels last summer.

He knows that Rachel likes people-watching in places like this, where there are two kinds of customers: the ones who are in and out in just a few minutes and the ones who take their time and linger. It's one of her little habits that he's picked up over the years (not unlike the way that he yells things at sportscasters on TV exactly like Santana sometimes), and he finds himself gazing over her shoulder as she eats her fruit salad, watching a couple sitting there on the other side of the door, a guy and a girl just a few years older than Puck and Rachel are. They're totally wrapped up in each other, talking over the remains of their breakfast. The girl's telling a story, her face animated and her hands moving as she talks, and then the guy's laughing, shaking his head and taking her hand in his on top of the table. Puck recognizes the way he's looking at his girl, like she's half-crazy but he's totally nuts about her anyway, because Puck knows that he looks at Rachel like that at least once a day when they're actually in the same place at the same time.

Rachel nearly chokes on a raspberry when Noah looks at her and says, "I'm moving to New York," without preamble.

She finds that she doesn't care what his reason is, nor does she care about the horrible cream cheese that's lingering on his lips when she leans across the table to kiss him.

Later, when they're lying together in bed, Rachel has to stop herself from asking what it means for them that Noah is moving to the city. A million things could happen in the few months between now and then, and if there's anything that Rachel has learned in the past few years about life and having expectations for it, it's that things can change more quickly than you can keep up with.

She doesn't have time to worry about it. She has a musical to perfect and classes to get through and a recital at which she needs to perform more flawlessly than she ever has to get her name out there into the theater community. She doesn't have the time or energy to devote to worrying about things that could be happening in her personal life after graduation.

* * *

><p>There's a moment on opening night, when she's singing with Charlotte and tap dancing across the stage, when Rachel feels the absolute perfection of being exactly where she's supposed to be. She's done shows since she came to New York, obviously, but she hasn't felt this certainty since New Directions' performance at Nationals senior year, side by side with her best friends, knowing that they were flawless together.<p>

This though...it feels like she's just a hair's breadth from everything she's ever wanted. This is the last step, and maybe the most important.

It's everything.

Her father meets her backstage after the show, carrying a bouquet of pink tulips and looking at her like he's never seen her before.

"What?" she finally asks.

"You were perfect," he tells her quietly. "I always knew that you were good, but..." he trails off, shaking his head. "My God, Rachel, you're amazing. Your daddy would be so proud."

The tears start slipping down her cheeks almost immediately, and there isn't anything she can do to stop them. Part of becoming a star was always about making her fathers proud, about fulfilling her own dream and showing them that everything they sacrificed for her to pursue the stage was worth it. She doesn't say anything, just wraps her arms around her dad and hugs him tight, burying her face against his chest like a little girl.

Puck can't afford to just up and run to New York to see Rachel sing, financially or academically, but he calls in a favor to Mike (who tells him he's in Switzerland when he emails him back), who calls in a favor to one of his friends in the city, who gets into the theater (Puck doesn't care how) to record the show for him.

He should really be sleeping (he has to be at his internship at eight tomorrow morning), but when Puck gets the email just before eleven, he spends the next couple of hours sitting up in bed, watching Rachel be fucking amazing.

The whole thing kind of makes him feel like a pussy, so he keeps it to himself, just like he never told her that he snuck into the theater and watched rehearsal back in April. He doesn't tell Finn or Santana, and he sure as hell isn't going to tell Rachel. He knows that she'll get recordings of part of the performance that she'll keep to send to agents or directors or whoever, which means that she'll send him a copy that he can gush over without telling her about all the trouble that he went to.

As annoying as it was sometimes, listening to her talk about Broadway and her career and being a star, Puck doesn't know how she won't be exactly that. She's made him sit through a couple of YouTube videos of the chick who originated this role on Broadway, and Rachel is at least as good as she was. (He'd say she's better, but he knows he's biased.) It's all just a matter of time.

* * *

><p>The day after the last performance of <em>Thoroughly Modern Millie<em>, Rachel gets a call from Lorelai Warner, the agent that she met at the wrap party for _Kiss Me, Kate_, the one who called her magnetic. Lorelai wants to represent Rachel, which has her jumping up and down even though she manages to keep her voice even and professional when she tells the woman that she's waiting to choose representation until after graduation, but she'll absolutely put Lorelai's name on the list. Graduation is just two weeks away, so asking for that time isn't unreasonable, and the woman agrees easily.

Lorelai Warner ends up being just the first name on a list of agents who think they can make Rachel Berry a star.

It's a heady feeling, a sense of validation for her talent after all this time, and she revels in it even as she feels anxious about making the right decision.

"Choose the one who represents the most famous people," Santana suggests when Rachel mentions it on the phone one night. It's utterly unhelpful, because the level of fame of someone's clients may or may not be related to their influence. Some people just _are_ stars, no matter who's working on their behalf.

"You should be working with the person who is best able to get you to where you want to be, angelfish," Dad offers, which, again, helps her not at all. Of course she should, but the issue is choosing _which_ person is that person. If it was that easy to tell, there wouldn't be anything more to it than telling that 'best' person that she wants to hire them.

"You know what I'd do?" Noah says when she talks to him about it. "I'd choose the one who's not a bastard. Or the one who's the least bastardly."

"That isn't a word," Rachel tells him, but she's smiling. She knows that really is how Noah would make such a decision; he'd choose the person that he liked best, regardless of credentials or clientele. And maybe he has a point; once all of the on-paper attributes are considered, maybe her gut instinct is the way to choose the person she wants to work with.

There's a reception after the senior recital that's designed to help students make exactly these sorts of connections, and Rachel uses the party as an opportunity to talk to as many people as she can, trying to gauge personalities and everything else, trying to find the person that her intellect and her intuition agree is the best choice. She's already done all the research she can do, reading online and talking to some of her professors, so now it's really about putting it all together and deciding.

She pulls a tiny notepad and a pen from her purse on the bus ride home, scrawling notes about each of the people she spoke with, and by the time she gets to her stop, she's narrowed the pool to three people: Lorelai, a gentleman named Patrick who just had a client pulled from the chorus of her show to replace the lead when she left, and a woman named Deborah who has been doing the job for years and has an incredibly impressive contact list.

She should probably sleep on a decision like this, the first big one of her career, but she's too energized and impatient to do that. Instead, she's up till nearly three, typing out her comments so she can really synthesize all of the information, even though she has to be up early to go to the airport and meet her father, who's flying in for graduation. The tipping point is the fact that Lorelai was the first person who approached her, way back in December, and used the word "magnetic" to describe Rachel's performance. Maybe it's a superficial reason to make such an important decision, but it feels right.

It should be hard to get out of bed at seven the next morning, but it isn't at all, and she doesn't even bother making a pot of coffee or stopping at the deli before heading to the airport to meet her dad. She doesn't need the caffeine, not when she feels like things are finally - _finally_ - going the way they're supposed to in her life. She has plenty of natural energy.

She tells her father about her decision to hire Lorelai when they're in a cab on their way back into Manhattan to check into his hotel. He's told her over and over that it's her decision, but until she gets a role and starts making real money of her own, it's an expense that's going to be paid out of her nearly-empty college fund. (Two years at OSU combined with academic and music scholarships have helped to make it last a bit longer than they'd originally expected, but she can only rely on it for a very short while longer.) She explains her reasoning and is relieved to see that he's smiling as she finishes.

"That sounds very sensible," he says when she pauses. "She sounds like a fan of yours."

"Wouldn't she have to be, to want to represent me this way?"

"No," he says flatly. "She has to think that you're going to be successful and make her money, but she doesn't have to like you or what you do."

He has a point, she supposes, not that she likes it. She prefers to think of Lorelai as an ally, someone who would celebrate Rachel's success for what it is instead of just as a payday for herself. It's a bit delusional, perhaps, but Rachel's going to pretend that it's what she believes, keeping it to herself.

Commencement ceremonies are uneventful and far less personal than they felt in high school. Rachel wants to sit with Christina, but the girl's program is graduating at the 1:30 ceremony and Rachel's is at ten a.m., so she doesn't make any effort to sit with anyone particular. On her left is a boy with red hair and an awkward smile getting his degree in chemistry, and on her right is a girl wearing a Cartier trinity ring who can't be bothered to look away from her iPhone for long enough to let Rachel ask her what she's getting her degree in. (She finds out that the girl is getting her Bachelor of Arts in Psychology, which somehow makes sense.)

She poses for pictures in her cap and gown with her father, snapped by a perfectly lovely woman who is also a complete stranger, then peels off the uncomfortable and unflattering black polyester.

They go to a more extravagant restaurant than they normally would for lunch, one that Rachel has seen mentioned on some of the websites she's used to find some of her favorite places since she came to the city. Dad orders a bottle of champagne before she can stop him, despite the fact that it's just barely noon. "We're celebrating," he insists when she points out the time. "Your graduation, your recital, your musical, your new representation - we're celebrating all of it."

She can't deny that she likes celebrations, especially when they're for her, and it is quite a good time for one.

They're waiting for dessert (it's a _celebration_) when Dad reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out two envelopes and a little white jewelry box tied with a yellow ribbon. She takes them with a smile, nodding when he tells her to open the box first. Inside, she finds a pair of diamond stud earrings, martini-set in gold. "They're perfect," she breathes out, swallowing tears, because they are. She's always wanted diamond earrings, but Daddy thought that they were too extravagant for a teenager. He'd been telling her for years that he'd buy her diamonds when she graduated from college.

Dad is sitting across the table from her with tears in his eyes that match her own. As much as this is a gift from him, this is a gift from her Daddy, too. She knows that was the intention.

"The cards," he says when she finally looks up at him. "One is from your daddy." Rachel feels her jaw go slack. "He wrote it for you."

"I'm going to save them for later, then," she says when she feels like she can speak without a sob escaping from her throat.

They go to a matinee of a show, then to a quick dinner, and then he's leaving again, too soon, flying back to Ohio and work and all the things she left behind. She feels selfish, but she wishes that he was able to stay for more than two days at a time when he does come. She isn't lonely, exactly, in the city, but sometimes she does feel painfully alone, though they aren't the same thing.

She hopes that changes when Noah moves to the city. It's only a matter of weeks now.

She waits until later that night, when she's washed her face and brushed her teeth and is in bed in her pajamas, to read the cards that her dad gave her. She opens his first, and inside is a lovely if typical 'I'm so proud of you,' sentiment.

Rachel spends a moment looking at the other card, the envelope inscribed with her name in her daddy's precise, compact script. She takes a deep breath that she holds in when she slips her fingernail beneath the seal on the envelope, releasing it slowly when she slides out the heavy, creamy white card.

_Rachel_, she reads, and just the sight of his handwriting brings tears to her eyes. _So many things you've done in your life have made me so incredibly proud of you, so proud to be your father. As much as I wish I could be there for your college graduation, I don't know that I could be any more proud of you than I already am. I love you, Daddy_

It's just like her daddy, short and to the point and not particularly sentimental. She reads it twice, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, then tucks it back into the envelope and into the back of her quotations journal before turning out the light.

* * *

><p>Puck's mom is the only person in his entire family who has ever gotten a degree, and she did that when they were growing up, after his dad left and she was trying anything she could to make sure that the three of them stayed afloat. She'd gotten her CNA in high school, and that was supposed to be enough; it was, he figures, until she realized what a deadbeat his dad was and how much she fucked up, getting knocked up and married the summer after graduation.<p>

Anyhow, Puck is the first person born with the last name Puckerman to graduate from college, and since he wasn't always so sure that was going to happen (like when Quinn was pregnant and he was trying to convince her to keep it, or when he did that stint in juvie), it feels like a big fucking deal. His mom and his Nana Helen both agree, and they're all fired up about sending out announcements and coming to graduation.

As far as all that shit goes, Puck just hopes that he has some distant relatives who have more money than he realizes who want to reward him for doing something with his life. Santana's been pulling envelopes of money out of the mailbox just about every day for the last two weeks.

By some crazy stroke of luck, all four of their programs are graduating at the same ceremony, so Puck sits between Sam and Santana, with Finn on her other side, and they spend the bulk of the ceremony passing Santana's program back and forth, writing notes with a pen that Sam produced from his pocket just like they all used to - in one combination or another - in classes in high school, including during glee rehearsals when Schue or Rachel really got on the soapbox about something.

Graduation ceremonies are held in the arena, but Puck still hears his mom exclaim, "That's my boy!" when they read his name. He's grinning when he walks across the stage to get his diploma (diploma holder, actually), and he doesn't stop even when his mom presses a messy kiss to his cheek and insists on posing the four of them for endless photos. Actually, between their four families - who, of course, have gotten together for this - they spend nearly an hour taking photos.

Carole insists that they all go to dinner together, even though there are like twenty of them. It's a huge clusterfuck and basically the most fun Puck's had in Ohio in the last year. Stevie Evans obviously has his eye on Abby, who is at least not being a bitch to the kid about it, and all four moms start telling baby stories.

He and Santana throw a huge ass party at their house that night, even though they're working on packing the place up and the majority of Puck's shit, including the kitchen table and the couch, is loaded into the shipping pod that's sitting in the driveway. (He found his apartment in New York online, which might end up biting him in the ass, but whatever. The building is rent-controlled and it was a now-or-never sort of thing. It's the only way he's actually going to be able to afford to live in Manhattan in a half-decent neighborhood on his salary. He's willing to take the chance.)

Sometime after two, Santana leaves with Finn, so Puck kicks everybody else out of the house except for Sam, who's sleeping in Santana's bed. (She'll be pissed, but right now, Puck's drunk, and he doesn't give a fuck about tomorrow.) He does a walk through of the house, to make sure that nothing's going to burn or die or cause any other major damage before morning, then shuts himself in his room to call Rachel. She texted him this morning, before her own ceremony started (it's weird that they graduated on the same day, he thinks), and made him promise to call her when he got a chance. They don't make promises to each other as a rule, so he likes to make sure he keeps them when he does.

"Two weeks," she says when she answers, instead of _hello_. "You'll be here in two weeks."

Puck grins, flopping back onto his bed. The room spins, so he sets his foot on the floor to stop it. "Yeah, baby. Two weeks."

* * *

><p>The end of school leaves an enormous vacuum in Rachel's life. Without classes and rehearsals and voice lessons and studying, she really doesn't know what to do with herself. She also doesn't want to commit herself to a bunch of things only to get a role and have spread herself too thin. Right now, she's just biding her time, waiting for someone to want her for something more than a part in a chorus. She knows she can only hold out for so long though; she can't make roles appear out of the ether, and being unwilling to take what she can get doesn't change that. Still, she can wait a bit, and she's sure that she can find things to occupy herself in the meantime.<p>

The very first thing she does is make a list of all the things that she's been letting slide for the last six months, too caught up in school and everything else to worry about. Then, she starts working through that list. She rotates her wardrobe, putting away winter things and pulling out sundresses; she cleans the refrigerator, taking everything out and scrubbing out the shelves and crisper drawers with bleach water; she positively attacks her bathroom, bleaching the grout between the tiles before sorting through the entire contents of the medicine cabinet; she dusts and mops and scrubs and purges, and it feels wonderfully cathartic.

It takes just a day and a half.

It's one of the few times in her life when she wishes that she wasn't so tidy, because if she was a true slob, she could have spent a day and a half on the kitchen alone. As it stands, she has to find something new to occupy her time.

She spends a day in Brooklyn, meaning to explore a new neighborhood but getting swept away in a used bookstore. It's perfect, filled with everything from novels to biographies to sheet music, and she gets a little carried away, buying both things to read and things she thinks she might be able to deconstruct for craft projects. Then, of course, she has to lug her huge, heavy bag all the way back to Manhattan and it feels a little less perfect.

She spends a day in Battery Park, reading and people watching, and another browsing at the Guggenheim (because she hasn't been in the two years since she moved here) before doing a bit of Fifth Avenue window shopping.

She needs something to _do_.

What's more, she knows that she needs to find something to occupy her time before Noah gets to the city, or she's going to end up smothering him. She knows herself, and she knows him pretty well, too, and the last thing their relationship, such as it is, needs is her being clingy and obsessive. It won't last.

She's more than a little hopeful when she sees Lorelai's message on her phone when she leaves the yoga class she's started going to a few days a week in an effort to keep herself relaxed and centered.

"Hear me out," Lorelai says when Rachel announces herself, which takes down her hopefulness a notch. "I found a part that I think will be good for you, but it isn't exactly what you want."

Rachel glances both ways, then cuts across the street in the middle of the block. "What is it?"

"It's a chorus part in _Sunset Boulevard_." No, it isn't exactly what Rachel wants. It's actually exactly what she doesn't want, but Lorelai obviously isn't finished, so she keeps her mouth shut. "You know the show, right?"

Of course. "Of course."

"I represent the girl playing Betty. She just got married, and she's trying to get pregnant, which means she could be leaving the show. I'd be surprised if she's there at the end of summer," Lorelai says candidly. "This director is known for pulling actors out of the chorus and putting them in larger roles, and you could be perfect as Betty."

"So it would be like paying my dues," Rachel says.

"Something like that. Listen, there isn't anyone in that chorus as talented as you. If you go in there and show them who you are and what you've got, there's no way they won't offer you the part when Jessica gets knocked up. Her understudy is a twit."

Rachel has to suppress her laugh. She isn't entirely sure that Lorelai is right; it can take a long time to get pregnant, and even if the girl does leave the show, there's always the chance that Lorelai's wrong about the rest of the chorus, or that the director could find someone from outside the show to bring in, and then what was the point? Well, contacts in the industry, certainly, and a credit to her name, and experience in a real Broadway show. That was part of the reason Rachel went to school at all, to make the necessary contacts so that her first job would be on Broadway instead of off-off-Broadway in a production of _The Fantasticks_.

And just like that, she's talked herself into saying yes.

Puck's standing in his bedroom in Lima when Rachel calls him, sorting through the stuff in his closet and boxing up the things he wants to take with him when he moves. "Did you get the part?" he asks instead of answering. She told him all about the part that could lead to a _part_, and he knows that she was supposed to hear about it today.

"I am officially a member of the chorus of the Broadway revival of _Sunset Boulevard_," she confirms, speaking very precisely.

He sits on the edge of his bed, grinning. "That's awesome, baby."

"It really is, isn't it?" There's the excited girl he was expecting.

"When's your first show?"

Rachel glances at the papers strewn across her coffee table, sheet music and stage notes and the script. "A week from Tuesday."

"So I'll be able to go."

"No," she says quickly. She doesn't want him to sit through the show to watch her in the chorus. She wants him to wait until her performance is really worth watching. "Not until I'm Betty," she insists, pleading a little. It's important.

"All right," he agrees. He gets it, why she doesn't want him there before she's playing the part she really wants; it's the control freak coming out, and more. So he'll agree to stay away, then buy his own ticket and see it without telling her.

It wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

><p>Finn and Sam drive with him from Columbus to New York so Puck doesn't have to hire movers to get his shit into his apartment. Neither of the guys have been to the city since high school, but neither of them has time to hang out; they both have work at part-time jobs on Monday, so they're literally driving out and then turning around to head home the same day. Puck thinks that sounds like a terrible idea, but they've both insisted that they can make the drive and that they'll stop at a hotel if they need to. Honestly, if they think they'll be fine, Puck isn't going to worry about it; Rachel's doing that enough for all three of them.<p>

It only takes a couple of hours to get his shit moved into his new place, another hour to annihilate a couple of pizzas while they work together to get the entertainment center hooked up, and then they're gone.

That part kind of sucks.

Finn has _always_ lived just a few minutes away, and it's going to be weird not to have his boy always on call, so to speak. They've always been there for each other whenever they needed it, and it's going to be weird not to be able to hang out whenever, to have a drink just because or whatever. As long as Mike's in Europe or Asia or wherever the hell being Michael Jackson, Puck doesn't have a bro in the city, which is a new thing, too. Right now, New York is all Rachel, and even though he's always made friends easily and he knows that hasn't changed, it is nice to know that she's there.

He realizes how alone she was when she first came here. He knew, of course, but things were still weird between them when she first moved. Everyone that she knew in the city was someone she was in competition with up until she found Mike again. He doesn't know how she didn't go crazy like that.

He does, actually. It's because Rachel's always been stronger than anyone gives her credit for, especially when it comes to being on her own and taking care of herself. That girl could handle anything you threw at her, and she'd make it look good when she did it.

He's trimming shelf liner to fit in the kitchen when she buzzes up, which makes him add _'get keys for Rachel_' to his mental list of shit to do before he starts work on Wednesday. He's had keys to her place since they were both in Columbus; it's probably time that he reciprocate.

Rachel wraps her arms around him as soon as he opens the door, pressing her cheek to his chest and inhaling the scent of his skin, clean from the shower he must have taken after Finn and Sam left. "Hi."

Noah doesn't say anything, just slips his hand into her hair and tugs a little until she tips her head back and lets him kiss her gently. She loves the way he does that, moving her just the way he like with his fingers massaging her scalp, not quite pulling her hair. He kicks the door shut, and she giggles when he pushes her against it, his hand fumbling for the deadbolt. "Noah."

"Shh." He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and starts walking backwards to his bedroom. "Missed you," he mumbles, his lips skating up her jaw.

"Noah, you have to show me your place," she protests, even as he turns them around in his bedroom and pushes her to sit at the edge of his bed.

He slips his hands beneath the hem of her blouse and tugs it up over her head, pushing her hair back out of her face after he's dropped the shirt on the floor. "Later."

Rachel stops arguing when he pulls his own shirt off before peeling her jeans down her legs, moaning when he moves her to the middle of the bed and lays on top of her. It feels so _good_ to be with him like this, especially knowing that he isn't going to be leaving any time soon.

"Show me your place," she insists after she's caught her breath, pulling his tee shirt over her head. Puck watches her crawl out of the bed (and yes, of course he put his bed together and put sheets on it first thing; he knew she was coming) and slip on her panties, hot pink with white polka dots. He kind of loves the way that they look under his Disturbed tee shirt, so he forces himself up and into his boxers to walk her through the apartment.

Noah's apartment is bigger than hers, and a bit nicer, with crown moldings and hardwood floors that were clearly refinished more recently than her own. Of course, given that he already has a job with a salary and she moved into hers as a college student, it makes sense, even if she is a bit jealous.

It occurs to her for the first time, standing in his breakfast nook in her bare feet and looking down at the street, that they're each pursuing careers that could make them substantial amounts of money. She knows what she has with her talent, and she's seen digital models of the some of the houses that Noah has designed, and it's clear to her that he has a gift for what he does. Sure, he has a few more years of school, and it takes time to build a reputation, and she hasn't gotten her big break yet, but the potential is there for each of them.

She suddenly feels very, very grown up.

* * *

><p>Puck does go see the show on Rachel's first night, though he doesn't tell her.<p>

She looks like she belongs on stage, and maybe it's just him, but he's pretty sure that she outshines everyone else up there.

* * *

><p>Lorelai calls Rachel to invite her to a cocktail event. "It's an opportunity to make some new connections," she says, "but I think you'll have fun. Dress up, bring your boyfriend."<p>

Honestly, Rachel likes the idea of dressing up and going out, even if the party is on the one night a week that she and Noah are able to spent a substantial amount of time together. They can sacrifice one night alone for a night together with other people, especially if it could help Rachel make some new contacts.

Rachel's standing in her bedroom when Puck gets to her apartment to meet her for this cocktail thing, and as soon as he sees her, all of his annoyance at having to go home from work to shower and put on a suit and tie (when eh just took off a tie) melts away. She's wearing a fitted white dress, to the knee with little cap sleeves and a scoop neck, barefoot in front of the mirror and fastening a necklace. She isn't showing a ton of it, but her skin looks amazing against the white of the dress, tanned and smooth, and her hair is in these loose waves that he wants to run his fingers through and wreck.

She looks fucking amazing.

Her cheeks blush a pretty pink when he tells her. "Help me?" she asks quietly, holding out a delicate little gold bracelet that he knows full well she can fasten onto her own wrist.

They've never been to an event like this together - not that Rachel has been to too many of these events herself - and she's a little anxious about it. She knows that he knows how to behave appropriately in social situations, but being appropriate and being comfortable are two different things.

As it turns out, she didn't need to worry about him at all.

Puck like watching her charm the hell out of people. Fuck, that's probably part of why he started watching her in the first place all those years ago, and he thinks it's going to be the thing that gets the right person to notice her at the right time. Maybe right now, this arty looking woman she's talking to, smiling and gesturing with the hand that isn't holding her gin and tonic.

Rachel has to make an effort to keep her inner fan girl in check when Lorelai introduces her to Sutton Foster. She's far from the best voice on Broadway for Rachel's money, but she originated the role of Millie in _Thoroughly Modern Millie_, and as such, Rachel has studied the nuances of her performance carefully. It's the standout moment of the evening for her, even though she's met a handful of producers and a director who mentioned having seen Rachel on YouTube in a short film that she helped one of Mike's friends with back when she first moved to the city, something she quite forgot about.

Her stomach is growling by the time they leave, and her feet ache from standing in heels that look fantastic but were really made for sitting. "Are you starving too?" she asks as soon as they're in a cab on their way back to his apartment. If she's hungry, he has to be.

"Oh, my God, _yes_."

"I'd cut a bitch for some pizza," she states conversationally, grinning when he cracks up. She nursed the same drink all night, so he knows she isn't drunk, but he loves her like this, all relaxed and a little silly.

It isn't until they get back to his place, when they're sitting in the living room eating pizza straight from their respective boxes (dating a vegan means ordering separate everything, but whatever) that it all crystallizes. She's wearing one of of his white v-neck tee shirts that she stole out of the laundry basket with her pale pink lace panties, giggling around a mouthful of pizza at the story he just told about something stupid one of the secretaries at work did, the kind of shit that he thought only happened on _The Office_. Her face is bare, washed clean of makeup when they were waiting for the pizza delivery, and her hair is in a ponytail.

She's fucking beautiful, and he thinks she's even more beautiful like this, all relaxed and easy, than she is when she's all dolled up.

"I love you," he says, watching her take a bite of her crust. She blinks. "I just...fuck, Rach, I really do."

Rachel finishes chewing her bite and swallows, setting the rest of her crust in the lid of the pizza box. She doesn't know exactly when she fell in love with Noah, though it's begun to feel like she's been in love with him forever. He's just _been there_ for her like no one else in her entire life, and she can't do anything but love him for that.

"I love you, too," she says after a moment, almost whispering. "So much."

It feels amazing to say the words aloud again and know that he feels the same way.

It's even better the next time, when he's inside her and she murmurs it against his lips, her hair making a curtain around their faces as she moves over him.

* * *

><p>Puck's title at Helmsley and Monroe is 'junior associate,' which he very quickly learns puts him just a step above the unpaid intern that he was last summer. At first, a lot of what he's doing is bullshit paper pushing and busy work. Just a few years ago, he would have said fuck it and blown it all off, but he's grown up, and he gets that he needs to pay his dues if he wants to get anywhere. Plus, keeping these guys happy is what's going to ensure that he gets his school paid for; if that means kissing ass and doing bullshit for a couple of years, that's what he'll do.<p>

He and Rachel fall into a routine pretty easily, even though their schedules aren't the most compatible. Puck's at work by nine every morning, and she doesn't get out of the theater until nearly eleven each night. They don't live together, but they still sleep in the same bed most nights, sort of alternating between their apartments. Puck stays up until she gets home, and she gets up before he leaves each morning. No, he doesn't really see enough of her, but it is what it is, and they're making it work.

About the middle of August, one of the junior partners taps Puck to work on a project, remodeling a massive house for some movie producer out in Connecticut. It's the same junior partner who took an interest in Puck last summer, which he thinks means he must be doing something right.

"That's amazing," Rachel says when he tells her the news. She knows how big this is for him, and she can sense the change in his demeanor almost immediately, the difference between going to work each day and going through the motions and going to work each day and doing what makes you happy.

She knows exactly what going through the motions looks like, because she's doing it herself.

Rachel thinks that the only person more eager for Jessica to get pregnant than Jessica herself is Rachel, and she's considering the woman's very enthusiastic husband. At first, being a part of the chorus was lovely. She was honored just to be a part of the show, and it afforded her an opportunity to watch the other actors, to learn the other parts, even the ones that she couldn't dream of playing for another twenty years.

It's still a rush, being on stage eight times a week, but it's less, somehow, when she knows that no one is looking at her, no one is listening to her. Maybe it's selfish, but Rachel still firmly believes that she's meant to be a _star_. She can be a part of a group, but she's a leader, not a follower, and it's hard to lead from the back of the stage.

She's still giving it everything she has, and she knows that the director has been impressed with her; he told her so. That doesn't matter though, not while Jessica is still around, not to mention her understudy. (Admittedly, the understudy is a flake and could easily be passed over for the role if Jessica left. Still.)

Noah meets her outside the theater after her last Sunday show on Labor Day weekend. Both of the day's shows were sold out, but Rachel doesn't feel the same exhilaration about that as she did even when she was performing with New Directions at a show choir competition in middle-of-nowhere, Ohio. This is _Broadway_, and she feels nothing.

He drapes his arm over her shoulder, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "How'd it go?" he asks, his standard question when he sees her after a show. She thinks it's endearing.

Her answer is a noncommital, "Fine," which Puck hates. She doesn't talk about it much, but he knows that she's feeling dejected about the show. He gets it, sort of, because he knows her and how she is, but he thinks that she needs to chill a little. It can't happen all at once, and she's only been out of school for three months.

"I have a bottle of that red wine that you like," he tells her instead of saying anything else about the show. "I don't have to work tomorrow, so I think we should get drunk and fuck all night."

"Noah!" she hisses, looking around fervently to see if anyone else on the street overheard his vulgarity, but she can't help the laughter that bubbles up.

He just shakes his head. "Tell me that doesn't sound fucking amazing."

"Well, of course it does," she concedes, biting her lip when he smirks down at her.


	17. Chapter 17

Noah starts classes in September, though they don't really interfere too much with the time they spend together given that they don't get too much of that in the first place. He refuses to take a Monday night class and lose their one night together a week, and he does most of his homework on the weekends out of necessity and convenience.

Seeing how much he's enjoying his job and his classes just makes Rachel's own unhappiness with her job that much more stark. When Jessica excuses herself to the restroom just before a pre-show meeting and comes back in tears, whispering with one of the other chorus girls about 'maybe next month,' Rachel loses it just a tiny bit, and she leaves Lorelai a message at her office that night.

"I want to do something else," she says simply when the agent returns the call the next morning. "Something more, even if it's off-Broadway."

"Of course, Rachel, but Jessica-"

"Started her period last night," she interrupts flatly. She's beyond propriety regarding this situation; in fact, she thinks that she passed that point three months ago when she realized that she could time Jessica's menstrual cycle with uncomfortable accuracy. "Look, I'm not leaving _Sunset_ until I have somewhere else to go, but I need to know that you're trying to find something else for me."

"Okay," Lorelai says simply. And that's that.

* * *

><p>When he's there for the first time to see it, Puck decides that he really likes fall in New York, even if it is a fucking cliché. But the tree on the corner of his street is the color of the top of a bonfire and the air is crisp. Nothing slows down, because work is kind of nuts with the Connecticut project and he's about <em>thisclose<em> to being spread too thin between it and school and trying to spend some actual time with Rachel, but he kind of loves it.

Who the hell would have predicted five years ago that Noah Puckerman would be _happy_ working his ass off?

Of course, he would be happier if Rachel wasn't bordering on miserable.

She's trying to keep it together, he can tell, but her cracks are showing. She's not really the type to pick fights and make everybody around her feel like shit, too, so when she comes home from work one Sunday night all fighty, he knows that something's up. Seriously, she picks a fight about the way that he hangs the towels in his bathroom, which is not only stupid, but not really any of her business. (That's part of the reason that they don't actually live together.)

He gets up earlier than usual the next morning, but instead of showering and getting ready for work, he calls in sick. He hasn't lied about being sick to get out of doing something since his freshman year of college, when he missed a deadline for a paper because he was hungover but managed to convince the professor that he had food poisoning. (Like no one's ever used that excuse before.) It isn't something he's going to make a habit of, but Puck thinks that having a whole day together can only improve her mood.

Rachel panics when she wakes up at 9:30 and he's still asleep beside her, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him roughly while hissing his name. "You're supposed to be at work!" she insists when he mumbles something into his pillow.

"Stop," he orders gruffly. "I called in."

She stops moving immediately, trying to slide her hand across his forehead to feel for a temperature, scowling when he bats her hand away. "What's wrong?"

Puck turns over onto his back and takes a deep breath when he realizes that now that she's up and asking questions, he isn't going to be getting any more sleep today. "You," he answers without thinking, shaking his head when she narrows her eyes. "I mean I wanted to be able to spend some actual time with you."

She starts spouting shit about personal integrity and work ethic - which he has, so whatever - but he's sort of distracted by the way she looks in her pale blue satin slip of a nightgown, her hair all wild from sleeping on it. He leans up on his elbows to nip at her shoulder, kissing along her collarbone and up the side of her neck until she's moaning instead of talking and letting him pull her over to straddle his hips.

If there's a better way than sex to start the day, Puck hasn't found it.

The thing about calling in sick when you aren't actually sick is that you can't go anywhere without worrying that the wrong person is going to see you. As such, Rachel thinks that they should spend the day inside his apartment and staying far away from anywhere that he might see anyone that he knows from work.

Puck is a badass at heart though, still, and he isn't worried about getting caught. They only have so many more days when being outside is pleasant, something you actually want to do rather than something you have to do to get places, and he wants to take advantage of them.

"I'm frustrated," she admits when they're walking through a park near NYU's campus. "I think I'm better than this, so it's hard."

"You just gotta be patient, baby." She scowls up at him, so Puck takes her hand, weaving their fingers together as they walk. "And you have to chill with the nitpicking, 'cause you're giving me war flashbacks." Her eyebrows furrow. "To living with Santana," he clarifies, snickering when she sends an elbow into his ribs and attempts, unsuccessfully, to tug her hand away from his.

* * *

><p>When Rachel gets to the theater on Sunday afternoon, there's a letter-sized envelope with her name on it taped to her mirror in the dressing room she shares with three other girls in the chorus. Inside, she finds a photograph and a note written on a sheet of creased wide-ruled notebook paper.<p>

_Rachel,_

_I thought Noah might want to have this._

_Shelby_

Rachel's hands are shaking when she picks up the photograph of Beth, all blonde curls and a bright smile.

For the last few months, Rachel has been able to separate her life into two distinct categories: personal and career. While her career isn't quite following the trajectory she'd like, her personal life is; her relationship with Noah is as stable as anything she's ever had. The idea that Shelby could come back _again_ and potentially interfere with that is infuriating. She meant it when she told the woman to stay out of her life. Each time she comes back, something falls apart.

It's tempting to throw the envelope away and pretend that she never saw it. It would be so much easier to just forget about it.

Except, she realizes between the matinee and the evening show, for the fact that she wouldn't be able to forget about it at all, and if Noah ever found out that she lied again...she doesn't know that their relationship could handle another lie about Shelby

(She hates her mother more than she ever has in this moment. She was supposed to _go away_.)

Puck knows something's up when Rachel gets to his apartment on Sunday evening. She comes straight to where he's sitting on the couch and sits beside him, which she never does. She always goes to wash her face and change her clothes, claiming that if she sits down and gets too comfortable, she won't want to get up again. That shit's true, too; Puck's tested it a couple of times, and it's always been worth it, even when he had to listen to her bitch about sleeping in her makeup the next morning.

She folds her legs one over the other, sitting sideways on the cushion, facing him. "This was waiting for me when I got to the theater today," she says quietly, holding out an envelope.

Rachel doesn't watch his face when he pulls the photograph out of the envelope. To see the expression there feels too close, like she's intruding on a private moment. It's too much.

"She looks like Quinn," he says after a moment.

Rachel looks up and meets his eyes, shaking her head a little. "She looks like both of you," she corrects quietly. "But she certainly has Quinn's hair."

He can't quite name the look on Rachel's face. He's never seen it before, but he hates that it's there. It's almost like she's afraid of what he's going to say about this. "So, what? Shelby's stalking you?" he asks after a minute.

"Looks that way," she deadpans, then she sighs. "I told her to leave me alone."

Every time Shelby comes back into Rachel's life, Puck thinks about what he would do if it was his dad, and he's been sure of one thing each and every time: Rachel handles all the bullshit a lot more calmly than he would. "Fuck her," he says, meeting her eyes seriously. "You don't need this, and neither do I. I don't have to see pictures of her to know that she's better with Shelby than she would have been with me and Quinn."

Her heart aches. "Are you sure?" She still has Shelby's card, tucked into a copy of _Mommie Dearest_ she picked up at a used bookstore on her bookshelf that she has no intention of ever reading. (She appreciates the symbolism.) Noah could contact Shelby, could build some sort of relationship so that he could at least see what his daughter looks like as she grows.

Puck stands up, dropping the envelope with the note and the photo onto the coffee table before taking Rachel's hands and tugging her with him. "Yeah."

Wednesdays are Noah's busy days. He has a three-hour class that he goes to immediately after leaving work, and he's always exhausted by the time he gets home. It's the one night a week that they never spend together.

That's why it's the day that Rachel chooses to drive out to Hartford to see her mother.

There are decorative heaps of sugar pumpkins and gourds on the front steps of the Morris house, which is just as impressive in the last light of day as it was at night, and a wreath hanging on the front door made of twigs and decorated with autumn maple leaves. Shelby doesn't seem at all surprised when she opens the front door and sees Rachel standing there with her hands tucked into the pockets of her long navy cardigan against the chill. It's strange, how calm she appears. "Rachel."

"How did you even know that Noah was in the city?" she asks in lieu of a greeting. She's beyond pleasantries with this woman.

"I saw you together outside the theater after I came to see the show," she answers simply. She steps aside a little. "Please, come in."

"No. I can appreciate what you were trying to do for Noah, and it's a lovely gesture, but it isn't something that he needs. He believes that what they did for Beth was the right thing, and that's enough for him."

Shelby nods. "I just thought that since I've been sending Quinn photos, I could do the same for Noah, but if-"

"You're in contact with Quinn Fabray?" Rachel interrupts, stricken.

"Quinn Foster, now," Shelby corrects. "She's married. She found me online a couple of years ago and asked if I would be willing to share some pictures. Twice a year, I put together an envelope and mail them, and that's all, but if that isn't what Noah wants, I won't do that for him."

"It isn't," Rachel agrees, forcing herself to speak normally. "And I meant it when I asked you to leave me alone." She takes a deep breath and looks Shelby in the eye. "I can't stop you from following my career and coming to shows, but I don't want to see you or hear from you. Not ever again."

She doesn't give Shelby a chance to say anything, though she does take her first two steps away from the door backwards to watch the woman's face. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted just a bit, and Rachel can see her chest moving as she takes shallow breaths. Once she's back in the car, driving out the fancy neighborhood, she wishes that she'd just turned around and walked away though; she's rather not have that expression burned into her mind, and now it's there for good.

* * *

><p>They have Thanksgiving together just like last year, where Rachel orders stuff and cooks too much food, because as much as Puck wants to go back home for Thanksgiving - and yeah, he really does - he doesn't want to leave Rachel here alone, and she has a show on Friday that she insists she can't miss.<p>

(Sometimes, he wishes that she was more selfish at the right times and would do something at the expense of someone else that would make her _happy_ instead of helping her career or whatever else.)

It is different this year though, because Rachel invites Amanda, one of the girls from her show who just can't afford to go back home to Iowa for Thanksgiving, and Puck invites Lucas, one of the receptionists from Helmsley and Monroe who fucking hates his job but is sort of hilariously snarky, kind of like a male version of Santana. (Not living with her left a hole in his life, apparently, and he had to find someone to fill it.)

Since Puck doesn't have to work on Friday, he convinced Rachel to sleep in a little longer than she normally would. That's why he's super fucking annoyed when her phone starts ringing on her bedside table at seven fucking thirty. She sounds completely normal when she answers the phone, even though she's still just as asleep as he is. He has no clue how she does that, but right now, he just wants her to be quiet. They were up half the night working off their dinner (heh), and he needs _sleep_.

"I know it's early," Lorelai says when Rachel answers the phone, "but I wanted to give you plenty of time to call in and let them know that you aren't doing the show tonight."

"Excuse me?" She's half-asleep, yes, but she's pretty sure Lorelai just told her to call in to work.

"You have a meeting with a director about a new show this afternoon," Lorelai says, sounding a bit smug.

"What?" She pushes herself up into a sitting position, ignoring Noah's protest when the comforter shifts and exposes his shoulders to the cool air of the room.

"You've met her. Angela Chatworth, the Brit. She's bringing her revival of _Closer_ to the states, and she needs an Alice. It isn't a musical, but it's a hell of an opportunity, Rachel, and you should at least meet with her, especially since she called me to ask about you."

"Of course," Rachel agrees. "What time?"

She hangs up after Lorelai has given her the details of this meeting (and she won't have to miss the show at all, silly woman) and looks down at Noah. His face is mostly buried in his pillow, and he has the comforter pulled up nearly to his chin now, but she can see that he has one eye open and on her. "I have a meeting with a director about a play," she says simply.

"That's great, baby." Early. He was supposed to get to sleep in, and it's early.

"A play that was made into a movie. A role that got Natalie Portman an Oscar nomination," she goes on, almost disbelievingly. Rachel is a singer before she's an actress, and now she's being sought out to play a very important part that doesn't require her to sing a single note. "I have to decide what to wear."

Puck can see exactly where this is going. "I like what you got on now," he offers lasciviously, though it isn't really a joke. She's in one of his white undershirts, which is almost completely see-through, and she has awesome tits. He slides his hand up her thigh under the covers, stopping when his fingertips hit the cotton of her panties at her hip. "The director dude'll love it."

"It's a woman," she informs him, laughing when he shrugs.

"Doesn't matter." He slides his hand up until he's flat on her stomach beneath her shirt, pushing her onto her back and fitting himself between her thighs, ignoring her protests. "When's your meeting?" he asks, nuzzling at her neck.

"Two." He presses his hips into hers and she feels his half-hard length against the inside of her thigh. "What are you doing?"

"Try'na do you," he mutters, pushing the shirt up over her head and dropping it off the side of the bed."

"But-" She gasps when he closes his mouth around her nipple, pushing her hand into the back of his hair. "I have to get ready."

He scrapes his teeth over her nipple gently, until her back arches like it always does. "You have hours," he points out, rolling his eyes when he sees the look on her face. "Fuck, I'll help you figure out what to wear."

She shifts her hips, letting out a breath when he presses against her center. "Without complaining?"

"Yeah, baby." He's like, two minutes from being inside her; he'll say anything.

When Rachel meets Angela Chatworth at a restaurant in midtown (wearing dark skinny jeans, cognac leather boots, and the cream-colored cashmere sweater that Noah loves so much), she isn't exactly sure what to expect. She doesn't really know what she wants out of the meeting either, honestly, other than that she always wants to make a good impression when she makes a connection with someone new.

Angela is a director that Rachel met ages ago through school, at one reception or another, and she's since seen the short film that Rachel did as a favor for one of Mike's friends nearly two years ago. It's apparently floating around on YouTube, and while Rachel hasn't made an effort to put it out there (and neither has Lorelai), that doesn't stop it from appearing when someone googles 'Rachel Berry.'

"Alice a charming, vulnerable character," Angela says once they've gotten past the pleasantries and are actually discussing the play. "Most of what we see of her is a lie, and it takes someone special to still make the audience love her."

Rachel thinks that means that Angela thinks that she could be that special someone.

Angela is bringing the show back to Broadway following it's West End revival, and save for the girl who played Alice, she's bringing the West End cast with her, including Jonathan Rhys Meyer as Dan. Rachel has to force herself to remain neutral when she hears that; she's quite liked everything she's ever seen him in, particularly _August Rush_ (which she thinks is underrated), in which he plays a rather charming if misguided musician.

"I'm looking at a couple of other girls," Angela says candidly, "and I know that you're a singer, but I'd like to see you audition, if you're interested."

"I'm interested," Rachel says simply. She is interested, even if she isn't completely convinced, and she isn't going to let a bit of unsurity stop her from seeing what could come of this.

"Great. Jonathan's going to be in town next week, so I'll have my assistant call and schedule and appointment, probably Tuesday or Wednesday morning so you don't miss a show."

Rachel nods, not trusting her voice.

She's really just going through the motions on stage that night, not that the show ever really _requires_ more of her than that. (That isn't to say that she doesn't give it her all every night; she does, because she respects the stage too much to phone it in.) It's just that she's distracted, thinking about next week and the copy of the play that's sitting in her bag in the dressing room and what doing this play could mean for her career.

"What if I do this and people forget that I can sing?" she asks Noah that night, scowling at him when he scoffs. She's sitting up in his bed facing him while he leans back against the headboard.

"Baby, people aren't going to forget you can sing," he tells her seriously. "You know what I think will happen?" he asks, reaching for her hand. "I think this is going to show people that you're a hell of an actress, too, and they'll want you that much more."

She bites her lip. "You really think so?"

"I really do."

Puck isn't going to tell her this, but after she left for her meeting this afternoon, he found her copy of the movie and watched it. He never would have said anything, but he really couldn't picture her doing a play instead of a musical, and he wanted to see what this was all about. Having watched it, he really does think that she'd kill it.

She moves so she's under the covers and curls into his side, pressing a little kiss to his chest through his tee shirt. "Thank you," she murmurs, curling her fingers into the fabric at his chest.

He drops a kiss to the top of her head. "Any time, baby."

* * *

><p>They hire her on the spot.<p>

They hire her _on the spot_.

Her audition with Jonathan Rhys Meyer (at some point, she knows she's going to have to stop thinking of him by his full name, but not just yet) is the scene from the bus for Angela and two of the producers. Rachel understands how important the casting for this particular play is, given that it's only the four actors, and she wants to be a part of it. The other three actors have been working together for nearly a year in the West End show, but their Alice got married and is trying to have a baby (a theme in Rachel's professional life, apparently), so they're trying to find the perfect replacement. It's intimidating, coming into this tight-knit group of people who are older and more experienced on the stage than she is, but, god, she _wants_ it.

Apparently it shows, because they hire her on the spot.

She forces herself to walk a full five blocks away from Angela's office before she ducks into an empty doorway and allows herself a moment jump up and down and squeal (squeak, really) in excitement. It isn't at all how she pictured it, but she's just been cast in her first lead in a Broadway production. It isn't Fanny Brice or Elphaba or Maria or any of the other roles she's imagined playing, but she feels so amazingly perfect now that she knows that it's right for her.

She calls her father first, interrupting some meeting that he's in, though he isn't at all annoyed when she shares her big news. "I'm so proud of you," he tells her, and she can hear the tears in his voice. "You're going to be amazing, angelfish, and your daddy would be so happy for you."

She chokes back tears, not wanting to be the girl crying on the streets of Manhattan, but she knows that her dad is right. Her daddy would be happy for her.

She tells Noah next, calling reception at Helmsley and Monroe and asking for him, claiming an emergency per their agreement. (She feels guilty, lying like that, though he insisted that karma won't come back and 'bite her in the ass,' but this is their code. It's an emergency if she gets the part, and if she didn't, she was going to just send him a text message.)

"You got it?" he says when he picks up the line.

"I got it," she confirms, laughing though she doesn't know why exactly. Probably because she's so happy.

"I knew you would," he says, and he means it. He doesn't care who else was auditioning; he helped her run lines for this thing, and she's amazing. Pretending to be this Dan guy for her, he fell in love with Alice.

That wasn't much of a stretch though, given that he's already in love with Rachel, but he's pretty sure that everyone else is going to fall in love with her, too.

Rachel gives notice for _Sunset Boulevard_ that afternoon when she gets to the theater. She's going to miss the people that she works with, but she doesn't think that she'll miss the show itself.

Rehearsals are going to start after New Year's with previews scheduled to begin in mid-March, which means that she'll have three free weeks, right at Christmas and Hanukkah, and another three months where she'll actually be able to spend more than one evening a week with her boyfriend. As much as she loves performing, and even though she knew exactly what she was getting into when she started pursuing a career on stage, she's so glad that they're going to get that time together.

* * *

><p>Puck asks Rachel if she can get him a ticket to her last show of <em>Sunset Boulevard<em>.

"Don't you want to wait to see me in a show where I actually speak?" she asks.

"No." She frowns. "Rach, you've been doing this show for months, and I've never seen it," he lies. He doesn't feel bad about that though; it's pretty dumb when you think about it. She's been doing eight shows a week since June, and as far as she knows, he hasn't seen it once?

"Okay," she concedes after a moment. "But only because it's the last show."

He meets her after the show with a bouquet of white roses. "What did you think of the show?" she asks before he gets a chance to say anything.

He shrugs. "I was too busy watching the hot ass chorus girl in the back to pay attention to the story."

She just shakes her head and loops her arm through his to let him lead her towards the subway station.

(Truth? He liked the movie better.)

* * *

><p>The first day of Hanukkah falls on Christmas this year, which is also a Sunday, which is perfect. Rachel and Noah make plans to go back to Ohio for a few days. Rachel hasn't been back in over two years, and she's dying to have a chance to spend a bit of time with her dad.<p>

She has nothing but free time in the weeks that lead up to their trip, so Rachel throws herself into shopping for holiday gifts and making sure that she and Noah see everything that the city has to offer this time of year. They're Jewish, yes, but Rachel's daddy was raised Christian, and liking Christmas trees and window displays on Fifth Avenue doesn't mean they aren't proud of their heritage.

Puck likes going along with whatever makes her happy, really, because he can see how happy she is. It's a stark contrast to how unhappy she was before, and he'll do just about anything to keep her that way.

He makes the mistake of saying that to his mom on the phone when he mentions that he and Rachel went to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, and she makes this little noise and sighs, "Oh, Noah. You just love her."

Yeah, he does.

They do all of the first night stuff at the Puckerman house with Marlene and Abby, and Rachel tries to quash the guilt she feels about the fact she hasn't been around for the holidays for the last two years, and she hasn't been home for Hanukkah since she was still living in Columbus. She's also disappointed about the fact that she hasn't properly celebrated the holiday in years, not necessarily because she finds the ritual so important, but because she likes it. She'll take the festival of lights over Christmas any day (even if she does convince Noah that they need to drive around town looking at lights on houses; you just don't seem them like this in New York).

Puck's pretty sure his mom has made it her mission to get him to gain ten pounds in the four days they're in Ohio, and she's doing an awesome job. He knows how to feed himself and there are a million restaurants in the city, but nothing beats his mom's brisket and latkes.

Rachel goes home with her dad after dinner, and Abby leaves to go over to her boyfriend's house. (When the fuck did Abby get old enough to drive? Or to have a fucking _boyfriend_, for that matter?) Puck ends up sitting at the kitchen table drinking peppermint tea with his mom.

"This time of year must be hard for Rachel," she comments, looking at him pointedly over the rim of her cup when she takes a sip of tea.

Puck rolls his eyes. Subtle as a freight train. "Naw, she does all right." Actually, he knows that the days around when her dad died are a lot harder for her than the holidays. "She's really happy about getting started on this play next week."

"I watched that movie. Is Rachel going to be naked on stage every night?"

Puck scowls. "No. She said it's all about the suggestion or whatever, so she'll be up there in lingerie." Which he hates.

"I could come out for a visit when the play starts," she muses, looking at a spot above Puck's head. "See your place, see Rachel's play."

"I see where I rank." She raises an eyebrow. "Admit it, you like Rachel better than me."

"That just isn't true, Noah. She's a lovely girl, but I love her most for making you happy."

It's the sappiest shit he's ever heard, but his mom might be the only person on the planet who likes him better than Rachel, so he'll take it. And yeah, Rachel does make him happy.

* * *

><p>Rachel wakes up a little after three in the morning in her childhood bed and can't fall asleep. She and Noah have been spending nearly every night together since he came to the city, and between being alone and the fact that this bed is less firm (and therefore less comfortable) than either hers or Noah's in New York, she can't get back to sleep. They're flying out this afternoon, and she really doesn't want to be exhausted on the plane, so she decides to go make herself a cup of chamomile tea rather than just tossing and turning.<p>

(She's already thinking about next August, when her lease ends, and what it would be like to move in with Noah. That's ages away, but if things keep going the way that they have with their relationship, it doesn't seem too far-fetched.)

She's surprised to find her dad sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe and slippers with his hands wrapped around a mug, Rock Hudson curled at his feet.

He looks up when he hears her step into the room. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," she answers with a little shrug. "You?"

"Insomnia," he answers tiredly. "Sitting here awake is better than lying there awake." She nods, and walks to the stove to get the kettle, and it's still hot enough that she doesn't bother putting it back on the burner.

She prepares herself a cup of tea and carries it with her to the table, where she sits on the side adjacent to her father. "I'm sorry it's been so long since I've been home," she murmurs after a moment, fiddling with the tag on her tea bag instead of looking at him.

"Oh, angelfish. You aren't supposed to be here," he says gently. He's smiling a little when she hazards a glance in his direction. "I've known that you were on your way since you were five years old, Rachel. You're where you're meant to be in New York."

She swallows hard against the lump in her throat. "You really think so?"

"I really do."

She takes a deep, slow breath and nods, smiling a little when he reaches across the table to take her hand. "You know, Daddy always told me that there were great plays on Broadway that weren't musicals," she says quietly. "I think he'd be happy that I'm doing this one."

She hasn't said the words aloud, though it's been swimming through her mind since the moment that Lorelai told her about the opportunity. Daddy was the one who first gave her the film; it was his copy that she stole to take with her to OSU when she first went off to school. She knows that he was always proud of what she did, but this just seems...different, somehow. Like something special just between them, even though he isn't here any more.

Maybe this is what people mean when they say they can feel their loved ones looking over them.

"He'd be very proud of you," Dad agrees, squeezing her hand gently. "Well, except for the part where his daughter is playing a stripper."

Rachel dissolves in giggles at the words, which forces the tears that had welled up in her eyes down her cheeks, and before she knows what's happening, she's a laughing, crying mess, and her father is right there with her.

* * *

><p>Rachel suggests that Puck spend his first New Year's Eve in New York in Times Square. "It'll be fun!" she insists.<p>

Puck would rather cut off his left arm than be in Times Square with that many fucking people, and it doesn't matter how much Rachel pouts when he tells her that, he isn't changing his mind.

Honestly, he'd rather just stay in at one of their places, split a bottle of champagne and some pizza, and ring in the new year with an orgasm or five, but Rachel insists that they have to _do_ something.

(Puck thinks she just wants an excuse to dress up. He knows that she's got some hot new dress hidden in the back of her closet that she bought back before they went back to Ohio, and she's itching for a reason to wear it.)

He finally agrees to go to this party that a friend of a friend of Mike's is throwing in some loft in SoHo. Rachel has an excuse to wear her dress (which is really fucking short, covered in silver sequins, and sexy as hell), and Puck probably won't have to deal with anyone that he wants to punch in the face.

Rachel spends the evening drinking champagne from a plastic flute and coercing Noah into dancing with her. (It's going to take a month to get through all of the sexual favors that she promises, but that makes the deal a complete win-win situation. She regrets nothing.)

He kisses her at midnight, slipping his hand into the back of her hair and pulling her against his body. "Happy new year, baby."

She stands on her toes to nip at his lips again. "Take me home, Noah."

* * *

><p>He flat out insists that she get him tickets to the first preview of the play. She's been pulling this 'not until it's perfect' crap like he hasn't known her forever, like she didn't drag him into making the world's worst music video when they were back in high school. He's seen her look fucking ridiculous, way worse then she would be caught <em>dead<em> looking on a Broadway stage. There isn't anything she could do in this very first show that would top that shit.

"Fine," she finally says. She pouts until he kisses the look off her face, pressing his fingers against her through the thin cotton of her pajama pants and making her whimper against his lips.

Rachel's nervous on the night of the first preview. There's an entire audience of people with incredibly high expectations, and it's her show to ruin. The rest of the cast is perfect, and it doesn't matter than Jonathan told her that she's going to be exceptional, she's terrified of being the weak link.

She's surprised that knowing that Noah is sitting out there in the audience actually makes her feel better; she had expected that his presence would add to the pressure she felt. He's never seen her perform like this in person (seeing grainy videos of her college productions doesn't even rank), not in something so important.

She wouldn't call it perfect, but she's prone to nitpicking her own performances to death, and besides that, previews are designed to give everyone involved a chance to work out any kinks there might be, the sorts of things that only come up during a real performance.

One of the stagehands takes Puck back to her dressing room after the show. "You were amazing," he tells her when they're alone. He means it, too. And not only was she amazing, but he was into the show enough that it wasn't until about five minutes into the scene that it registered that _his girlfriend_ was on stage in skimpy-ass lingerie and stripper heels for everybody to see. (Honestly, after running lines with her and seeing the play, he thinks it might be his favorite scene in the whole thing, however bizarre that is coming from the boyfriend.)

He's impressed with her right now, completely.

(It isn't the first time.)

She wraps her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest and breathing him in. "Thank you."

Later, once they're in bed in her apartment, he presses his chest to her back in the dark. "Thanks for finally letting me come watch you," he murmurs against her ear.

She turns her head to brush her lips against his. "I'm really glad you were there," she admits, bringing her hand up to graze her fingertips over the back of his neck the way that always makes him shiver.

It's wonderful, sharing this with him. It makes her feel...everything. Noah makes her feel _everything_.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, a show opens in previews that seem to last forever before it has an actual opening night (hello, <em>Spiderman<em>), but this production isn't like that at all. Previews begin in mid-March, and it's never even suggested that they might be extended beyond the originally planned mid-April official opening. It's fortunate, because despite her warnings, both her father and Noah's mother have booked flights to and hotel rooms in the city for that week, insisting that they be at her first offical show.

When someone from the theater's ticket office stops by her dressing room one afternoon to ask her what, exactly, she needs for opening night, she surprises herself when she asks for five tickets. One is for Noah, of course, and one for each of their parents.

The other two go into an envelope with a note that says _This changes nothing_.

There's something about taking control of the situation, inviting Shelby on her own terms instead of wondering if the woman is going to appear out of nowhere again, that lifts a weight off her shoulders that she didn't even know was there. And it really doesn't change anything; she still isn't interested in having a relationship with Shelby. She doesn't even want to see her.

Noah smiles when she tells him, leaning over to press his lips to her temple before taking a sip of his beer and looking back to the hockey game he was watching when she came in and sat down beside him.

She loves him for not making a big deal of it, because it isn't a big deal.

* * *

><p>"'Rachel Berry is as compelling an Alice as the stage has ever seen,'" Puck reads aloud from the review in the post the next morning. He skimmed past all the boring bits about the staging and the director and the Irish dude, focusing in on her name. "'Her inclusion in the cast makes the new Broadway production superior to the play's stint in the West End.'" He grins when she snatches the paper away from him, but sets his hand on her cheek to make her look at him. "They love you."<p>

"I can't believe it," she murmurs. She's truly in a state of disbelief. It feels incredibly surreal, her name in print like this.

She watches him turn away from her, reaching over to pull open the drawer of his bedside table. When he turns back, he's holding a Sharpie and a Playbill. "Can I have your autograph before you get to famous and important to give it to me?"

She pushes him onto his back with a laugh, straddling his hips and kissing him so good it pulls a moan from the back of his throat. "I'll give it to you," she teases, leaning back to pull her nightgown up over her head. He isn't totally kidding though, and after she's had her way with him, he insists that he needs her autograph.

She does eventually sign her name on the Playbill, but not until she's written it on his skin over his heart.

(He wonders if she realizes that her name has been written on his heart for years now.)

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** That's the end, kittens! I cannot offer enough thanks to everyone who read this story, and I do hope that you enjoyed it. If you're so inclined, I'd love it if you told me what you think. If not, thank you anyhow for coming on the journey!


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